


To Chaos, Order

by DunningKrugerExplainsEverything



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Angst, BorgQueen!Seven, F/F, Heavy Angst, Raffi/Borg Queen Seven, Raffi/BorgQueen!Seven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything/pseuds/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything
Summary: The more human Seven of Nine became, the more she loved her people. The more she loved her people, the more willing she was to burn away her humanity to protect them.Dark Angsty romance between Raffi and Borg Queen Seven of Nine.
Relationships: Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Always a follower, that Raffi. Never a leader.

Raffaela Musiker spent her entire life being pulled along in the wake of powerful men and women. Men and women with stronger wills than she. Men and women with greater strength than she.

When she was a child, Raffi always existed in the shadows of the more dominant children. The louder kids. The more charismatic kids. Raffi was never really a victim of bullying in school, but that was often because, she was ashamed to admit, she became friends with the bullies. She egged them on while they pummeled the weaker children. When the human kids mocked the Andorian, and the Bolian, and the Tellarite kids, Raffi would be the one standing behind them, laughing and giggling at the cruel jokes.

When she was a young woman, Raffi attended Starfleet Academy. In those days, Raffi was desperate to be friends with the most popular, most cliquish cadets. Now, how do you win the approval of such people? Why, you go to bars and clubs every night, and consume horrifying amounts of alcohol and narcotics, and then you wake up the next morning with a skull-juddering hangover. To this day, Raffi sometimes wonders if her alcoholism and her drug addictions all stemmed from her original addiction: her desperate desire to be accepted by temporary, fleeting friends.

When she was an adult woman, Raffi met Picard. _Admiral Jean-Luc Picard_ – the most inspiring, most intrepid, most fearless human being Raffi had ever encountered in her entire life. Raffi would have done anything for Picard. Raffi followed the Admiral on every step of his insane, hopeless mission to rescue billions of Romulans – and then, when the mission failed, and Picard discarded her like an unneeded tool, Raffi fell into a deep depression, and spent the next thirteen years proving that she was every bit as useless and worthless and superfluous as he had treated her.

Raffi Musiker. Not a leader. A follower.

In 2399, Raffi met Seven of Nine, the woman who would eventually become her wife.

Raffaela Musiker spent her entire life being pulled along in the wake of powerful men and women. Men and women with stronger wills than she.

Raffi would never have guessed what a terrifying will Seven of Nine possessed.

()()()()()()()()()()()

There is a conversation that Raffaela has been wanting to have with her wife for a long time.

Tonight, she finally works up the courage to have that conversation.

They are standing on a balcony together. A balcony very high above the ground. Beneath them lies a city, a sprawling city stretching out for miles and miles in every direction. A Borg city. In this landscape, everything is modular, everything is arbitrary – parts of buildings are constantly detaching themselves, floating about through the air, and creating new shapes and forms. Nothing stands still. Everything is in constant flux.

A jumble of shapes whirl about in the sky, and assemble together into a skyscraper. The skyscraper plops itself down on the ground, and stays there. A bridge disassembles, and reforms itself into a tower. A gigantic black edifice rises into the air, and then floats miles across the city to a place where it is more needed.

Seven is standing with her hands joined behind her back, peering out across the city. She's the one that's doing this. The city is dissolving and reconstituting itself according to her thoughts and commands.

Raffaela is a little distance behind her. She stares at Seven's back for a few long moments. Then:

“Wife?” she asks.

Seven turns her head a little towards her. **“Hmmm?”** she says.

Raffaela takes a deep breath. “Do you think...do you think it might be time to give the people more freedom?” she says.

 _The people._ The Borg Queen's subjects. How many people live in the Consensus? Fifteen trillion, thereabouts. Seven of Nine is responsible for the lives of fifteen trillion individuals.

Silence, for a few seconds.

 **“The people _are_ free,”** Seven says, at last. **“They are free from pain. Free from suffering. Free from hunger, and fear.”**

Raffaela gives a nervous laugh. “Yes...” she says. “But...they are not free to choose their own _leaders,_ are they? Perhaps we could give the people more political freedoms. We could allow them to participate in elections. After all...how can you truly be free, if you cannot even decide who governs you?”

Nothing is said, briefly. Then, Seven of Nine turns around. She stands with her city behind her, and faces her wife.

Seven of Nine has hair that is entirely white, and falls all the way down to her waist. Her skin is pale and discoloured, with faint grey mottling here and there. Her eyes are black spheres, with glowing green pinpricks at the centre that burn with power. She is dressed in exquisitely, _meticulously_ crafted robes, black and white, silk and velvet.

When Seven of Nine speaks, her voice is that of countless Borg, speaking as one. **“Are you afraid of us, Raffaela?”** she asks.

Raffaela's mouth goes slack. _“I beg your pardon?”_ she says, taken aback.

Seven gazes at Raffaela with those abyssal black eyes. **“Are you afraid of us?”** she says, again.

Raffaela puts on her best show of bravado. “Of course not,” she says. “Why would I be afraid of my own wife?”

Next, Seven gestures to the city beneath them. **“And the people,”** she says. **“Are the people of this Consensus afraid of us?”**

Raffaela winces at this. “Well...yes,” she says. “Yes, they are. Wife, you have a fleet of ten thousand Borg Cubes. You start entire wars on a whim. I think it's quite natural that the people are afraid of you...”

Seven's expression is eerily, unnaturally, unsettlingly calm. **“The people of this Consensus are not afraid of us,”** she says. **“On the contrary, they know that they are utterly safe because of us. They know that we will protect them.”**

Seven fixes her gaze on Raffaela. **“Do you know why the humans created democracy, Raffaela?”** she asks.

Raffaela throws up her hands. “Because it's a very effective form of government?” she tries.

Seven is like an utterly still lake, not a single ripple or wave upon the surface. **“No,”** she says. **“Humans created democracy because _they are afraid of each other._ _”_**

Seven readies herself. A monologue is about to begin. Raffaela can do little but stand, and listen.

 **“Human beings are terrified of their own species,”** Seven says. **“This is the reason that they invented democracy in the first place. Homo Sapiens are a deeply flawed race; corrupt, and paranoid, and selfish, and deceitful, and in order to keep themselves from destroying each other, they devised a system of rules and restrictions to keep their barbaric natures at bay. Elections every few years, because they could not trust their leaders to relinquish power on their own. Mechanisms in place to allow for the removal of dishonest or incompetent individuals, because when left to their own devices, humans becomes thieves, and murderers, and despots. Humans act as though democracy is some remarkable achievement, when in reality it is a shackle, a straitjacket that they must necessarily wear, because without it they would tear themselves apart. _'The price of liberty is eternal vigilance.'_ What an exhausting way to exist.”**

Seven pauses, and looks at her wife. She steps forward, and closes the distance between them. A hand, enclosed in a Borg exoskeleton, comes to rest on Raffaela's cheek.

 **“We are not human,”** Seven says. Somehow, her echoing voice becomes softer. **“And nor are you, Raffaela. We are _more._ We are Borg. We are not greedy, we are not vengeful, we are not corrupt. The Borg have no need of democracy, because we do not live in fear of ourselves, as humans do. We do not require more freedom, because we are already free...”**

The monologue is over. Seven's hand falls from Raffaela's cheek, and she waits for her wife to respond.

Raffaela looks down at the ground with a glum expression. “You are correct in all things, Wife,” she says, quietly.

Seven of Nine's face is a mask of ice. _Of course I am,_ it seems to say. _Of course I am._

()()()()()()()()()()()

Raffi spent thirteen years living in a hovel in the Vasquez Rocks.

Thirteen years, gorging herself on booze and narcotics. Thirteen years, keeping the most bizarre sleeping schedules. Thirteen years, sitting in a chair in the desert with a thousand-yard stare. Thirteen years, while far away a boy grew into a man without her.

For the longest time, Raffi was convinced that she would die at Vasquez Rocks. She had resigned herself to the fact that her life would end there. She wasn't sure how it would happen. Maybe she would grow old and frustrated and unfulfilled, and die of natural causes in her sleep. Or maybe she would drink too much one night, and choke on her own vomit. Made no difference, either way. She was trapped in that desert, and she would never escape.

Well, she did escape.

Raffi still has that house, by the way. It is no longer on Earth, but she still has it in her possession. She had it transported light years across space, and now it is safely stored in a stasis chamber, exactly as it was a thousand years ago.

Sometimes, Raffi likes to visit that house. She likes to sit in the veranda, and remember the warm desert winds blowing on her skin. She likes to go round with a can, and water the plants.

Raffi finds it comforting, to be reminded that she escaped from Vasquez Rocks. It pleases her to think that she _accomplished_ something, by getting away from that place. She likes to think that she scored some sort of _victory._

()()()()()()()()()()()

In 2387, the Hobus star, in the Devron Sector, exploded into a supernova.

Hundreds of millions of lives were lost. The Romulan Star Empire was dealt a grievous blow from which it never recovered. Starfleet's greatest hero, Jean-Luc Picard, ended his career in bitterness, and failure, and thwarted hope.

A hundred years later, Seven of Nine went to the Devron Sector, and established the system as the centrepiece of her empire. She dragged a star from a neighbouring system, and set it in place in the exact spot that Hobus once burned. The star was renamed Hobus II.

Hobus was Jean-Luc Picard's greatest failure.

Hobus was Seven of Nine's greatest achievement. A monument to her power, her might. A testament to her will.

“You know, if Jean-Luc were still alive, he'd think you were _mocking_ him,” Raffi had said to Seven, at the time.

They were standing together in the depths of a Borg Cube. Through openings in the cube's structure, they could see out into the blackness of space – in the distance, Hobus II was burning brightly, as though years of suffering and misery had never taken place at all.

Seven turned, and fixed her black eyes on Raffi. **“We do not understand,”** she said. Her voice seemed to come from the surrounding cube itself.

Raffi tried to find the words. “When that star blew up...it destroyed Jean-Luc's life,” she said. “It destroyed _my_ life, too. Hundreds of millions of people were killed...all those people, just burned to ashes. And, now? Here you are...”

Rabbi jabbed her finger in the direction of the star, and then she threw up her hands in a show of incomprehension.

“Why are you even doing this?” Raffi said. She laughed, a look of grim hilarity on her face. “That supernova was the beginning of the end for the Romulans...are you doing this to rub their faces in it? Is that why you're doing it? Do you wanna rub _my_ face in it? Jean-Luc's?”

Seven gazed at Raffi with a serene expression. She spoke in a thousand voices, and every one of them was blissed-out and detached.

 **“We are Borg,”** she said. **“And the Borg bring order to chaos. When the Hobus supernova occurred, it was a pointless, meaningless event. Countless lives were lost, for nothing. Now...”** She waved her hand towards Hobus II. **“We are imposing order upon a chaotic universe.”**

Seven looked at Raffi with a self-satisfied not-quite-smile. She waited for her to respond.

Raffi sighed. Her shoulders slumped. “It's just...it's kinda _triumphalist,”_ she said, with a shrug.

**“Triumphalist?”**

Seven moved closer to her wife. She placed a gentle hand upon Raffi's arm.

 **“This is _your_ triumph, also, Raffaela,”** she said. **“This is Jean-Luc Picard's triumph. Without you, we would never have been able to accomplish any of this...”**

Raffi gave a frown. Seven had a habit of insulting her wife without realizing that she had insulted her wife.

 _Yeah, yeah, I know._ Raffi thought to herself. _None of this would have ever happened without me...you don't have to remind me._

Once Hobus II was in place, Seven began construction of a megastructure around the star – a dyson sphere, an immense shell that enclosed the sun in its entirety. This megastructure took four hundred years to fully complete, and in the process of building it, the Borg hollowed out countless planets, and plundered innumerable asteroids and comets, stripping them of their minerals and metals and resources.

When the megastructure was completed, it had an internal surface area of approximately one hundred thousand trillion miles. Upon this surface area, Seven of Nine began constructing cities.

Raffi lives in one of those cities, now. Her home is Sovereign One, the capital city of the Consensus. Every morning, Raffi wakes up in that city, climbs out of bed, walks to her balcony, and the light of Hobus II shines upon her skin.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The last time Raffaela Musiker ever spoke with Jean-Luc Picard, they had a row.

“Raffi, you're a data _analyst!”_ he had bellowed with that typical Picard bombast. “You're the best intelligence officer I've ever worked with, and you mean to tell me that you had _no idea_ that Seven of Nine had ambitions of becoming _a dictator?”_

_No. I didn't, J.L._

_I really, truthfully didn't._

Raffi had an innate gift for interpreting and processing information. Her talent was to take massive volumes of facts and statistics and secrets, and convert them all into useful intelligence.

 _How in the hell,_ then, had she somehow managed not to realize that her fiancée was plotting a military takeover of a massive swathe of the Beta Quadrant?

()()()()()()()()()()()

It all began with The Artifact. The Artifact was the seed from which this entire sorry story sprang.

After Coppelius had been established as a protectorate of the Federation, the xBs repaired their Borg Cube, and began flying it towards Fenris.

Captain Rios was a little _dubious_ about this. He said: “Ahh, just so we're all on the same page: if a Borg Cube appears in Fenris' orbit without warning, there's gonna be mass panic on the surface. We do all know that, right?”

“You're right,” Picard had replied. “Which is why we need to get there first. Rios, we need to head to Fenris, and warn them that a group of ex-Borg are on their way. We need to reassure the people, tell them that they have nothing to fear.”

And so it was that the _Sirena_ hauled ass all the way to Fenris.

That evening, the crew of the _Sirena_ broadcast a transmission across the entire planet. Seven of Nine sat in front of a holo-recorder, and addressed the population.

“People of Fenris,” she said. “My name is Seven of Nine, and as a member of the Fenris Rangers, it has been my tremendous honour and privilege to serve and protect you, for these past fifteen years. Today, I have a message that you must all hear. In a short while, a Borg Cube will enter this system, and make its way towards our world. We have nothing to fear. There is no reason to panic, or to be afraid. The Borg aboard this cube are former drones, just like myself. They have escaped the Collective, and they have no wish to assimilate, or harm us. All they want is to live in peace, and to make a life for themselves on our wonderful planet. I have every faith that these Borg will come to cherish Fenris as their new home, as much as I have.”

These were the words that Seven spoke. Of course, they weren't actually _her words_. Jean-Luc had written this speech for her to memorize and perform.

“We need to remind the Fenris locals that a Borg has been defending them for more than a decade,” he said. “They'll be a lot more willing to welcome the xBs with that in mind.”

Seven's delivery of the speech was a little stilted, but nevertheless it did its job. The Artifact arrived in Fenris' skies, and the people did not go insane with fear or apprehension. They were more _intrigued_ by the xBs than anything else.

Thus it was that the Artifact found a new stomping ground.

Then came the violence.

Seven of Nine claimed the Artifact for the Fenris Rangers. The Borg Cube's weapon systems were brought back online, and the Fenris Rangers started using the cube to patrol their space.

Incidentally, this was also the time when Raffi and Seven first became lovers.

()()()()()()()()()()()

There was one conversation that Raffi would never forget.

They were in Seven's apartment on the surface of Fenris. They had just had sex together, and now they were lounging about on Seven's bed. They were naked. Raffi was reclining across the mattress, amid tangled bedsheets. Seven was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Seven had a knife in her hand. She was cutting fruit into little fleshy chunks, and placing them in a bowl. Post-coital refreshments. Melon. Apple. Pear.

“I've been a Fenris Ranger for fifteen years,” Seven said. Slice. Slice. Slice. “Fifteen years, I've spent, scratching and scraping at a problem that will never go away. Every time I shut down a narcotics racket, five more operations start up in different places. Every time I rescue a woman from sex slavery, five more women are abducted. It never ends.”

Seven stopped cutting the fruit, for a moment. She got a faraway look in her eyes, as though she seemed to be imagining a brighter future. “But now...” she says. “Now everything is different. We have a Borg Cube. The Fenris Rangers have a Borg Cube! Now, we actually do something! We can actually effect change.”

There was something about the way Raffi and Seven talked to each other. They had known each other for only a few weeks, but there was something about the way the words just tumbled out. For some reason, they were totally unguarded around each other. It was almost as though they were both desperate to relieve themselves of a burden. Like they had both been desperately waiting for someone to come along that they could confide in.

Raffi reached out across the bedsheets, and plucked a chunk of fruit from the bowl in Seven's lap. Mango. “So...what exactly are you planning on _doing_ with your big, scary Borg Cube?” she asked. She bit down on the mango.

A grimness seeped into Seven's eyes. Suddenly, the fact that she was holding a knife in her hand took on a new significance. She turned, and looked at Raffi.

“You already encountered Kal Kantar,” Seven said.

Raffi's eyes widened. _“You're gonna go after Kal Kantar?”_ she said, the words distorted by the mouthful of fruit.

Kal Kantar. A Romulan despot who treated the Qiris Sector as his own personal demesne. His Bird-of-Prey had picked a fight with the _Sirena_ , and come off worse for it.

Seven of Nine nodded. “That thug has been terrorizing people for years,” she said. “He demands protection money from anyone who happens to live in his territory. He murders anyone who tries to stand up to him. People vanish, and get tortured to death, and then their corpses get strung up in public places. He's a monster.”

Raffi contemplated this. “What are you going to do with him?” she asked.

Seven unconsciously weaved her knife through the air. “I don't want to kill him,” she said. “But he might not give me a choice.” A hungry smile broke out across her face. “Oh, I'd give _anything_ to be able to see his face when a damn Borg Cube drops out of warp right next to his orbital palace. We're going to make an example of him. And then, every warlord and crime boss in the Neutral Zone, all those lowlifes – they'll know what the Fenris Rangers will do to you from now on, when you prey on the vulnerable...”

Raffi made her best _ouch_ face. “So you're going to use your horrifyingly destructive Borg weapon to go hunt criminals,” she said. “Jean-Luc's not going to like that...”

At this, Seven gave Raffi a sour look. “Raffi, we just had sex,” she said. “Could you not invoke Picard, please? It kind of kills the mood...”

Raffi spluttered out laughing. “Well, it's true!” she said. “When Admiral Jean-Luc Picard finds out that you're about to start waging war on gangs with your Borg Death Ship, he's going to say it's _entirely unacceptable!”_

The last two words, Raffi attempted a Picard impression. It wasn't very good.

“ _I don't care,”_ Seven said.

The knife, and the bowl of fruit, were tossed aside. Seven grabbed Raffi by both wrists, and pushed her onto her back, pinning her hands down on the mattress. She straddled Raffi, and loomed over her, her long blonde hair tumbling down and trailing over her skin – her face, her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her breasts.

Raffi shrieked with laughter. Inside her, a gentle hunger grew at once into a ravenous, impatient craving.

Seven's eyes blazed with a white-hot fire. _“The Neutral Zone is mine,”_ she said in a breathy whisper. “From now on, nothing happens here without my permission, and those scumbags, those criminals...they're about to find out that when you break the law, you have to answer to me...”

Raffi gave Seven a droll look. “The thought of killing criminals makes you horny, doesn't it?” she says. “I knew you were a freak...”

Seven leaned down, and pressed her lips against Raffi's mouth. Raffi let out a blissful moan as the kiss lingered on. Seven lowered herself onto Raffi, and their bodies crushed together, limbs twisting and skin burning.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The last time Raffi ever saw Jean-Luc Picard, the old man seemed defeated. _Spent._

“Raffi, I'm ninety-eight years old,” he had said, his voice desolate, his eyes anguished. “I don't have very long left. Am I to believe that I spent my final few years helping to create a...a tyrant? A despot?”

They never spoke again, after that meeting. To this day, Raffi rues the fact that her final memory of the man is a painful one.

Sometimes, a particular question enters into Raffi's mind. It haunts her. Torments her.

_Did I know?_

_Did I know that Seven was trying to take over the Beta Quadrant?_

_I'm not an idiot. Of course I knew. Of course I knew that she was building new Borg Cubes in remote regions of space. Of course I knew that she was gathering intel on Romulan territory._

_She couldn't hide those things from me. I was one of Starfleet's best damn intelligence officers, and I was her fiancée. She could never hide those things from me._

_Then why didn't I say anything? Why didn't I warn anyone?_

_Why didn't I talk to her? Why didn't I try to stop her?_

_Well...I know the answer to those questions._

_I was in love with her._

_I was in love with Seven of Nine, and so I did nothing._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some minor edits to Chapter One, which mostly involved bolding Seven's Big Scary Borg Voice.

“You know...the Hobus cataclysm was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

Kar Kantar was a Romulan male of about seventy years in age. A little short, a little stout, with grey hair that he always made sure was dyed jet black. Every single day of his life, Kar Kantar went about his business dressed head-to-toe in Romulan military gear – large shoulder pads, and checkerboard patterns, and a ceremonial drape down his side. This, despite the fact that he had not served in the Romulan Guard for well over a decade, and had not seen battle for a long, long time. Kar Kantar was not a soldier – he was a drug dealer, a hoodlum, a gangster.

Jean-Luc, Raffi and Cristobal had come aboard Kar Kantar's floating palace – a space station that orbited Daimanta. They were sitting in a lavishly-furnished parlour, a table laden with drinks and refreshments before them. A few months ago, Kar Kantar had tried to murder the crew of the _Sirena_ over Vashti – now, he was entertaining them as guests.

Kar Kantar was on his feet, pacing back and forth before them. “When I was in the Guard, I had no prospects,” he said. “I was a mere Sub-Commander. No one was going to promote me. I was doomed to spend my entire life trapped in a thankless job. And then...”

Kar Kantar clenched his fist in the air.

“When Hobus exploded, suddenly the entire Beta Quadrant was thrust into chaos, and in that chaos...I glimpsed an opportunity. A chance to seize greatness. I went to the Qiris Sector, and I carved out my very own kingdom. I made a ruler of myself.”

Kar Kantar stared at Picard for a long, lingering moment, and gave him a poisonous smile. “The destruction of Hobus was the most wondrous gift I've ever received,” he said. “It made me the man I am today.”

This was an insult, of course. Kar Kantar was mocking Picard. Mocking him for his failure to save the lives of hundreds of millions.

Picard's face was impassive. He said nothing. He allowed Kantar to continue speaking.

Kar Kantar's eyes hardened, and his voice took on a dangerous edge.

“And now...you come here, and you expect me to give up everything that is mine? All that I've built, over the last thirteen years...all the back-breaking work that I've done, all the sacrifices I've made...you expect me to simply surrender it? To you?”

Some context is appropriate here.

Three weeks ago, one hundred and forty members of the Orion Crime Syndicate were killed. Seven of Nine, in control of the Artifact, intercepted one of their convoys, and opened fire. The Orions' ships were no match for the weapons systems of a Borg Cube. After the carnage, the Fenris Rangers investigated a cargo freighter that the Orions had been escorting, and discovered over six hundred women trapped in squalid conditions, trafficked into slavery by the Syndicate.

Two weeks ago, one of the most vicious crime bosses in the Neutral Zone was violently slain, along with sixty-five of his subordinates and henchmen. M'Ros, a part-Klingon who was notorious for feeding helpless victims to his pet Targs, was responsible for thousands of deaths and disappearances over more than a decade of criminality. On the planet Dijespi, in the Bedrost Sector, M'Ros woke one morning, went to the window of his bedchamber, and saw that the terrifying image of a Borg Cube was floating in the sky above his country mansion. Seven of Nine made sure to transport away any innocent individuals who happened to be present, and then she began bombarding the area. There was nothing left now, but several miles of black, charred earth.

One week ago, eight hundred members of the Krelosh militia were killed. The Krelosh were in the process of carrying out a programme of ethnic cleansing against a race called the Nolta. A quarter of a million Nolta had been rounded up into an interment camp, where they were being subjected to forced labour and compulsory sterilization. Seven of Nine directed the Artifact to the internment camp, and slaughtered the militia, and now the Fenris Rangers were left with the responsibility of returning two hundred and fifty thousand Nolta to their homes.

Seven of Nine was rampaging across the Neutral Zone in her brand-new Borg Cube. She was systematically hunting down the most ruthless criminals in the region, smugglers and kidnappers and serial killers, and bringing violent justice down upon them for their years of wickedness.

Naturally, when he found out that this was happening, Picard was apoplectic.

One night, in orbit above Fenris, Jean-Luc, Raffi and Cristobal beamed aboard the Artifact, where Seven and Elnor were waiting for them. There, in the innards of the Borg Cube, an argument was had.

Jean-Luc was brimming with indignant fury – all tempered, of course, by his usual dignity and poise.

“So this is how you act when you have a little taste of power?” he said. “For fifteen years, you fought to protect the people of the Neutral Zone, with nothing but your own skills and ingenuity. But now...now that you have a sword in your hand, this is how you choose to wield it? Hundreds killed, with no trial or due process? Extra-judicial killings, with no accountability? Is this the sort of person you are?”

Jean-Luc and Seven faced off – the rest of the _Sirena_ crew circled round them like an audience at a battle royale.

Seven was the picture of bored insouciance – she had her hands on her hips, and was slouching slightly, gazing at Jean-Luc with a dull expression. “Picard, are you seriously gonna get righteously angry about rapists, and murderers, and drug dealers?” she said. “They preyed on innocent people, and they got what they deserved. This is justice.”

Jean-Luc, of course, was able to deploy a speech at a moment's notice.

“In every civilization in history, people have always made the same argument,” he began. _“We should kill the drug dealers. They're only drug dealers. We should kill the paedophiles. They're only paedophiles._ But justice does not work that way!” Picard here stabbed his finger in the air for emphasis. “When you create a justice system, you must understand that the law does not apply to individuals; it applies to _groups_ of individuals. That has always been the case. When a society allows capital punishment, it is not just murderers or rapists or war criminals that are killed. No...” Picard's voice fell here to a deathly hush. “The death penalty has always been applied to disadvantaged groups. The poor. Ethnic minorities. When the law uses death as a weapon, vulnerable people are always the ones that suffer, and _that_ is the precedent you have now set, Seven!” Picard's voice began to rise again in anger. “By slaughtering all those people, that is the example you have given!”

An impressive monologue, well-delivered. But Seven of Nine still wasn't terribly impressed.

“Picard,” she said. “You did nothing.”

Jean-Luc frowned in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Seven peered at him indifferently. “You did nothing,” she said. “Starfleet, the Federation...you did nothing. For thirteen years, the people of the Neutral Zone were terrorized by criminals, and for that entire time, you stood off at the side, and you did nothing. You _tsk, tsk-ed_ , and _tut, tutted,_ and then you sat on your asses while we were fighting to survive.”

Picard tried to keep the argument on-track. “That has nothing to do with what is happening now...”

Seven raised her hand, and pointed at the planet of Fenris, visible through one of the gaps in the Borg Cube's hull. “Here's a piece of advice, Picard: beam down to the surface, and walk up to anyone – any person on the entire planet – and tell them that you're a Starfleet officer. Tell them. It won't mean anything to them, because they know that the word of a Starfleet officer is _worthless._ You can speechify to me all you like...the fact is, when we needed the Federation, you weren't there.”

This took the air out of Jean-Luc's sails. “Sometimes it is better to do nothing than to do something terrible...” he said.

To this, Seven barely even reacted.

Meanwhile, off to the side, Raffi felt as though she was watching a tragedy unfold in front of her.

The thing was, Raffi had really, _really_ enjoyed her life, these past few weeks. She had spent thirteen years decomposing away on Vasquez Rocks – but ever since she joined the crew of the _Sirena_ , Raffi's life had substantially, tangibly improved.

Jean-Luc Picard was an infuriating, pompous blowhard...but Raffi still loved the old fool, and she had to admit that he had a way of forcing some purpose into her life. On the _Sirena_ , Raffi got to hang out with Cristobal, and to her immense surprise, Raffi had discovered that she enjoyed his company when she was teetotal just as much as she did when she was a dissolute drunk. Agnes was a sweetie-pie, very easy to get along with. Elnor and Soji were great kids, and Raffi had forgotten how energizing it was to have some great kids around.

And then there was the sex. Raffi had been having some really, _really_ good sex, these past few weeks. Seven of Nine was the most intelligent woman Raffi had ever met. Seven of Nine had an extraordinary swagger that only comes when you're an infamous adventurer with hundreds of stories to tell. Seven of Nine was one of the most magnetic personalities Raffi had ever known...and Raffi couldn't get enough of her.

Raffi's life had not been this much fun in years. She had been in a sustained good mood for weeks and weeks.

And now...now, that was about to end.

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard would have nothing to do with a violent vigilante who committed massacres. Seven of Nine was not going to let some Starfleet has-been distract her from her goal of ridding the Neutral Zone of crime. Raffi felt as though she was watching her comfortable living situation crumble right before her eyes. If Jean-Luc and Seven parted ways...well, Raffi would have to make a choice, then, wouldn't she? If she stayed on the _Sirena_ , then she would lose Seven (And Elnor, also, most likely). If Raffi stayed with Seven, then Jean-Luc would take the _Sirena_ elsewhere, and Raffi would lose her closest friends...

Vasquez Rocks flashed before Raffi's eyes. Thirteen years, she spent, imprisoned by her own depression in that place.

 _No,_ Raffi thought to herself. _I can't let this happen. I have to keep this family together. I can't let this all fall apart._

Raffi clapped her hands together once, and everyone looked at her.

“Okay guys!” she said, loudly and cheerily, a bright smile on her face. She stepped forward, joining Seven and Jean-Luc at the centre of the group.

Raffi made her voice as comforting and conciliatory as possible. She said: “I know that you both feel very _strongly_ about this, but...I think I can see the way forward from here...”

Her mind was racing. She was trying to put together a speech in her head.

 _Goddamn it,_ she thought to herself. _How the hell does JL do this so easily?_

“Seven...you've been killing a whole bunch of criminals lately, and it would be nice if you acknowledged how much that bothers Jean-Luc. But! Let's focus on the most important thing. The most important thing is this: all of the crime bosses and all of the tin-pot dictators in the Neutral Zone are _scared_ , right now. There's a Borg Cube flying around space, and it's leaving a trail of dead scumbags wherever it goes. That's one hell of a Bogeyman.”

“What we need to do, now, is give all the crime lords in the Neutral Zone a message, and the message is this: _civilization is coming.”_ She looked at Seven, and then at Picard, and made sure they were following her. “Now that the Fenris Rangers have their very own Borg Cube, there will be no more anarchy. The law is going to be enforced. From now on, the Neutral Zone is a place of law, and all the gang lords and kingpins need to accept that.”

Raffi turned, and faced Picard. She looked at him earnestly – there was a hint of _pleading_ in her eyes. “JL,” she said. “We need to go and talk to all the crime bosses in the Neutral Zone. You, me, Cris. We need to go to all the drug lords and the pirate kings and the mob rulers, and we need to convince them to start following the law. _You_ need to convince them. Because you're Jean-Luc Picard! That's what you do! You need to persuade them to give up their empires, 'cause if they don't...there's a big, scary Borg Cube out there, and unless they behave, it'll come for them, next.”

“And Seven?” Raffi turned round, and focused her gaze on Seven of Nine. “We need you to hold off for a while. No more killing. I'm asking you to give us a chance. Let JL work his magic...just for a while. Let us have a dialogue.”

Raffi went back to addressing the group. “We have a big opportunity here!” she said. “We...we can turn the Neutral Zone into a functioning state! We can put a stop to all the violence and the lawlessness, and the people can start planning for the future! Just think of all the things we can do. Think of all the things we could accomplish if we brought peace to this region. Imagine if Fenris had elections, and an education system, and public works. Just imagine what an amazing place this world could be.”

Raffi gave Seven and Jean-Luc an admonishing look.

“But if we're going to do this, then we need to _work together,”_ she said. “We need to act like a team. We can only do this if we're on the same wavelength, Seven, JL. The people of this region are counting on us to do the right thing.”

There. Raffi was done talking. She waited for Seven and Jean-Luc to respond.

Now...Raffi knew that there was a big chance that Seven could break her heart, here.

Raffi realized that she was becoming infatuated with Seven of Nine. Seven and Raffi were not girlfriends – they were not in a romantic relationship, not yet. They were friends with benefits. They had an 'arrangement', a casual sexual relationship. They had fun together.

But Raffi knew that she was catching feelings. She knew that she was falling for Seven. Every day, she wanted to spend more and more time with her.

Raffi suspected that, if Seven refused to cooperate with her plan...that would be the end of the relationship. If Seven declined her proposal, then Jean-Luc would take the _Sirena_ , and go flying off to have adventures elsewhere in the Alpha Quadrant. Seven would remain in the Neutral Zone, so she could keep playing Sheriff.

Raffi knew that she would stay with Jean-Luc. She would stay on the _Sirena_ with Cris and his holograms, and leave Seven behind on Fenris. Seven of Nine would become nothing more than a pleasant memory, a fling that Raffi would fondly remember.

Everyone stood, and stared at Seven, and waited for her to give her answer.

Seven let out a sigh, and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “We'll put a halt on operations for now. You can go play negotiator, and we'll carry out modifications to the cube.”

Inside her chest, Raffi felt as though a crowd had just exploded into cheering. “Great!” she cried, a little too enthusiastically.

_She didn't dump me!_

Then, Raffi turned to Jean-Luc. “Well, JL? What do you think?”

Jean-Luc already had a spark in his eye. Raffi could tell that her speech had worked an effect on him. She could see that plans and ideas were forming in his head.

Jean-Luc Picard was ninety-four years old, and everyone on the _Sirena_ knew that he was looking to perform One Last Great Feat. One Last Grand Accomplishment, that he could carry out at the end of his life. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps this was Jean-Luc's chance to create one more Great Work.

He could bring peace to the Neutral Zone. He had an opportunity, now, to play the part of the Diplomat, the Statesman, for one final time. Jean-Luc knew that if he could convince the criminals of the Neutral Zone to renounce their ways of violence...then history would remember him as a great peacemaker.

Jean-Luc gave a gratified smile. “All right,” he said, nodding. “We'll do it.”

Raffi beamed at him, tremendously relieved. She felt like she had managed to avert a disaster.

Jean-Luc looked at Seven. “Seven...I want you to give me your word that if the gangs cooperate with us, then no harm will come to them,” he said.

Seven shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “As long as innocent people are safe, then the gangs have no reason to be afraid of me.”

That was that, then. A few days later, the _Sirena_ began wandering all around the Neutral Zone, and Picard tried to convince the galaxy's most depraved and ruthless criminals that it was time to find more respectable career paths.

Which brings us back to Kar Kantar.

Kar Kantar sat, and stared at his guests with deathly dark eyes. “You wish me to surrender everything that I have ever earned,” he stated. “And if I refuse? Then Seven of Nine will come along, and put me to death.”

Cristobal pulled his cigar out of his mouth so he could speak. “You can keep your money,” he said. “You can keep your mansions. But...” With his cigar, Cristobal gestured towards the various artifacts and relics displayed throughout the room. “You have to give back all the stuff that you stole from the museums and the temples. You can't keep them. Those belong to the people, not you.” The cigar was returned to its place.

Raffi tried to be conciliatory. “That's a really good deal!” she said, leaning forward in her seat. “You can live a life of comfort. And you don't have to worry about reprisals, or revenge attacks, or anything like that – the Fenris Rangers have promised to protect you...”

A very loud snort could be heard, at this. Kantar sneered at Raffi.

“Kar Kantar.”

Kantar turned his attention to the Admiral. Jean-Luc readied himself for another oration.

“The Neutral Zone is about to enter into a very bright future,” he said. “The people that live here...they have suffered greatly, over the years, but...I believe that their lives are about to improve considerably. I believe that, once we have established democratically-elected governments, and once we have the rule of law, life in the Neutral Zone will become much, much better. Kar Kantar, I ask of you: don't stand in the way of this. Don't resist what is coming. Instead, be part of it! Help us to build this better society! Participate in it!”

Jean-Luc fixed Kantar with an earnest expression.

“The universe has a way of surprising us,” he said. “Very often, our lives change very abruptly, without warning. Such is life. The future has arrived, Kar Kantar. I am asking you...be part of it...”

A nice speech. The room was silent, for a few moments. Kar Kantar sat, and peered at Jean-Luc.

Kar Kantar knew that he had no choice, of course. He knew that if he did not change his ways, Seven of Nine would crush him like an insect.

Kar Kantar agreed to cease his criminal operations. He relinquished his territories, and returned the artifacts that he had stolen from numerous planets. He disbanded his army, and accepted an amnesty from the Fenris Rangers.

()()()()()()()()()()()

One day, Raffaela went to her wife, and made a request.

“I want you to make me into a god,” she said.

Seven of Nine peered at Raffaela with those black, void-like eyes. She allowed a few seconds to go by in silence.

“ **We do not understand,”** she said, in her voice of trillions.

“I want you to make me like you,” Raffaela said. “I want you to build a new body for me. I...I want to be able to do all the things you can do. I want you to make me a god.”

The slightest hint of confusion passed across Seven's alabaster face. **“But then you would not be human...”** she said.

Raffaela chuckled at this. “Wife, you threw your own humanity away a long time ago,” she said. “You said that humanity was worth nothing at all. Those were the exact words you said to me.”

Raffaela stepped forward, reached down, and took Seven's hands in her own. She stood, and gazed into Seven's obsidian eyes. “Please, Wife,” she said, softly. “This is what I want for myself.”

Seven studied Raffaela's face for a few moments.

“ **Very well,”** she said, simply.

Seven of Nine constructed a new body for her wife. She spent hundreds of hours in her cavernous laboratory, crafting Raffaela's new avatar. When the work was complete, Seven transferred Raffaela's consciousness into the shell's cybernetic brain, and then Raffaela was reborn.

Raffaela Musiker, once a drug-addicted dissolute, now a Borg Goddess.

What sort of life does this goddess lead?

Raffaela is a telepath. With the aid of Borg technology, she is capable of projecting her thoughts for thousands of light years across the galaxy. She can manifest herself on worlds at the far side of the Beta Quadrant, while her body remains safely in Sovereign One.

Every day, Raffaela casts her mind across the vast breadth of space. Her consciousness flies through the galaxy, stars and planets and comets and nebulae whizzing past.

What is she doing? Raffaela is searching for other minds. She is looking for people who are suffering, for people who are in pain. People who need comfort, and shelter, and assistance.

On a distant world, a soldier is captured by his enemies, and is dragged into a dungeon to be tortured. There is a flash of light, and then the soldier looks around, and finds that he is no longer in the dungeon. He is in a strange, ethereal place, filled with a heavenly light. In the distance, he can hear the gentle sound of water flowing.

There is a woman, here. Tall. Dark skin. A fine, angular face, with pronounced cheekbones. Black eyes, with glowing green pupils. Voluminous, silver-white hair that reaches down to her shoulders. She is clad in a white dress.

She is the most beautiful woman that the soldier has ever seen.

The soldier looks around in confusion. “Where...where am I?” he asks. “Who are you?”

The woman's voice is calming. Soothing. “I am Raffaela,” she says. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

The soldier tries to make sense of what is happening to him. He doesn't quite remember how he came to this place. “W-what is this?” he says. “How did I get here?”

Raffaela's expression is utterly serene, a face untroubled by fear or worry. “I summoned you here,” she said. “This place...it is a sanctuary. A refuge. Think of it as a palace that exists only in my mind.”

The soldier isn't sure what to make of this. “Well...why am I here?” he asks. “What do you want from me?”

Raffaela gives a dim smile. “I want nothing from you,” she says, gently. “I simply do not wish you to suffer.”

_I simply do not wish you to suffer._

Oh. Suddenly, the soldier remembers everything.

“I've been captured by the enemy,” he states, flatly.

“Yes,” Raffaela says, nodding sadly. “I'm afraid so.”

A haunted look comes across the soldier's face, as he realizes that, at this very moment, his body is being hacked to pieces in a dank, filthy cellar.

“I'm going to die, now, aren't I?” he says.

Raffaela's voice is gentle. Reassuring. “Don't be afraid,” she says. “I'm not going to leave you. I will not allow you to feel any pain. You will feel nothing at all.”

The soldier peers sadly at the ground, for a few moments, and then he looks up, and gazes at Raffaela with a questioning expression. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

Raffaela smiles, warmly. “No one deserves to be alone,” is all she says.

The soldier dies. His image fades away, and then Raffaela is standing alone in that white, ghostly place.

Raffaela does nothing, for a short while. She becomes lost in thought, a mournful look in her eyes.

Then, she snaps to attention, and gets back to work. Raffaela projects her consciousness out into the enormity of space, and searches the stars. She searches for people who are frightened, and desperate, and alone.

Raffaela finds two young girls who are trapped in a burning house, and stays with them until the end.

Raffaela finds a man in a primitive society who is about to be executed for heresy. She stays with him until the end.

Raffaela finds a man who is drowning in a storm in the middle of an ocean. She stays with him until the end.

This is what Raffaela has become now. Raffaela is a goddess of mercy, of compassion. When granted unlimited power, people always reveal who they truly are.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my Mom passed away. This chapter is dedicated to you, Mom...

Number One had not seen his master for six months, now.

Laris and Zhaban were taking very good care of him. They always made sure he was properly fed. They made sure he was never lonely. He always had a warm place to lay down.

He missed his human. Of course he did. Ever since he was a pup, Number One had always slept at the foot of his master's bed...but now, for reasons that he could not understand, he found that he had to sleep alone. Every day, for years and years, Number One had always followed his master as he went ambling through the fields of the vineyard...now, Number One wandered through the fields by himself. He wondered why his human was gone.

One evening, Number One was lounging on the floor of the kitchen, when a vision of Jean-Luc Picard suddenly appeared in the room.

Immediately, Number One snapped to attention. He sat up, and peered intently at the apparition. Jean-Luc stood there, and spoke – Number One recognized _that voice_ at once, that deep and resonant voice...oh, how he had longed to hear that voice again...

 _Master!_ His master had returned!

No...

Something was wrong. This was not his master. There was something unusual about the image – it was strangely ghost-like, discoloured and transparent. There was no scent, either....

Number One quirked his head in confusion.

“Oh, sorry, Number One...” Zhaban was in the kitchen, also. He was bent over the cooker, stirring a pot of bubbling sauce. “Jean-Luc is a long, long way from here...”

Laris made her way into the kitchen. She glanced at the holographic screen, and then she rolled her eyes.

“I often suspected that, when he eventually passed away, Jean-Luc would haunt this place like a ghost,” she said. “Now he's haunting us while he's still alive...”

It was a hologram. Over the past few weeks, Jean-Luc Picard had been making regular appearances on the various news networks. For years and years, the people of the Federation had more-or-less forgotten that the great Admiral Picard had even existed – then, Jean-Luc exposed a massive Romulan conspiracy within Starfleet, and now the people couldn't get enough of him.

Jean-Luc Picard was the flavour of the month again. The people of the Federation had an insatiable appetite for Starfleet's most storied officer. Over the past few weeks, a number of journalists had been snooping around the Picard vineyards, fishing for information.

“Ah, n-no interviews,” Zhaban had shyly replied when a reporter had asked him to answer a few questions.

“If you fuckers set off our proximity alarms again, I'll call the Gendarmerie!” Laris had barked at a crowd of journalists who had trespassed into the grounds and triggered the warning system.

For thirteen years, Laris and Zhaban had enjoyed a quiet existence on Earth. Now, it seems Jean-Luc wanted some more excitement in his life...

Laris, Zhaban, and Number One stood in the kitchen, and peered at the hologram. Jean-Luc was in conversation with some news personality.

“ _What you must understand is that the people of the Neutral Zone trust the Fenris Rangers,”_ he said. _“The Fenris Rangers have spent the last thirteen years protecting the people here. They have earned their confidence...”_

Zhaban took the pot of sauce off the boil. “I guess Jean-Luc got so disappointed with the Federation, he decided to start his own,” he remarked. “I wonder if he's going to run for President?”

Laris crossed her arms, and glowered at the spectral image. Jean-Luc may have been light years away, but she was sorely tempted to give the hologram a tongue-lashing in his place.

“Can he really be so _obtuse?”_ she said. “Does he really think he can just establish a brand-new state, right at the border of the Romulan Empire? The Free State will end up _invading_ them!”

Zhaban snorted. “I'm pretty sure Jean-Luc just assumes he can talk his way out of an invasion...”

Laris stood, and glared ruefully at the hologram, as Jean-Luc prattled on.

For the past thirteen years, Laris had lived a very peaceful, comfortable life, here in La Barre. She was happy, in this place. Content. She had always assumed that she and her husband would take care of this vineyard, long after Jean-Luc had passed.

However...these past few days, Laris had been troubled by a feeling that this life of hers was about to come to an end. She had a suspicion that her days on Earth were almost up. This awful _anxiety_ had been following her, everywhere she went.

Laris stared daggers at the newscast. “Jean-Luc was the reason we were able to get away from Romulus, from the Tal Shiar,” she said, lips pressed grimly together. “Now, he's going to be the reason we get dragged back into it...”

Zhaban let out a sigh at this. “Laris, we're not going to get _dragged back_ into anything,” he said. “Earth is our home, now. We don't have to leave. Romulus is gone, we don't have to go back...”

Laris shot her husband a look. “They're going to _kill him,_ Zhaban,” she said. “The Tal Shiar are going to kill Jean-Luc. The Romulans were willing to ignore the Neutral Zone as long as it remained a – a – a _lawless shithole,_ but now Jean-Luc thinks he can turn it into a fecking state? They'll never tolerate that. They'll never tolerate that.”

Zhaban threw up his hands. “What are we supposed to do?” he asked. “Jean-Luc made his own choice, Laris. Going back into space was what he wanted...”

Laris' eyes fell to the floor. “We have to go after him, Zhaban,” she said, her voice a tired hush. “We have to find the old fool, and make him see sense. We have to bring him home again.”

Zhaban seemed to deflate where he stood. Privately, he had been looking forward to a nice rest over the winter – now, it looked like a long, exhausting journey was ahead of them...

In the corner of the kitchen, Number One looked back and forth between Laris and Zhaban with sad eyes and a long face.

Zhaban gave Number One a glum look. “Sorry, boy,” he said. “We're going to have to find someone else to look after you...”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Admiral Picard...I had forgotten how... _tragically brief_...the human lifespan could be. Humans only live for...a hundred and fifty years, wasn't it? It seems so _unfair._ The last time you and I met...you were a strong man – a Starfleet Captain. But now? It pains me to see you so _infirm._ So _enfeebled._ The years have not been kind to you, old friend. A man as proud as you...it must be difficult when your body betrays you...”

There were three people in the room. Jean-Luc Picard and Seven of Nine were sitting together at one end of a table. At the other end, there was a woman dressed in the most exquisite Romulan finery. She slouched back in her chair, peering at Jean-Luc and Seven with sneering disdain.

Jean-Luc did not allow the insult to affect him. “I understand the Romulan life expectancy is two hundred and fifty years, thereabouts,” he said, in a conversational tone. He flashed a kindly smile. “Well, I do hope you don't miss me too terribly, when I'm gone...”

The woman gave a flare of her nostrils. She glowered at Jean-Luc, but said nothing.

This was Sela. Daughter of Tasha Yar, a former officer on board Jean-Luc's Enterprise-D. Currently, Empress of the Romulan Star Empire.

Of course, technically, the Romulan Star Empire didn't exist any more. After the Hobus disaster, the Romulan Empire was unable to hold itself together, and so it crumbled apart into a mishmash of various states and alliances. In time, many of these states and alliances coalesced into the Romulan Free State...however, in the struggle for power, Sela managed to seize herself control of a moderately-sized sector on the outskirts of Romulan space. Two dozen or so populated planets. Several billion inhabitants. No bad haul.

But Sela was not content with her modest little demesne. She declared herself Empress of the Romulan people – ruler of all Romulan space. Nobody paid very much attention to her. Few people took her seriously at all. The Romulan Free State was mostly content to simply ignore her.

One small problem, though. Empress Sela's territory just so happened to be directly adjacent to the Neutral Zone...

“Do...do you mean to tell me that Sela is our _next-door neighbour?”_ Jean-Luc said, aghast, when Raffi informed him of this little fact. He was determined to help the Fenris Rangers protect the people of the Neutral Zone...but now, a small part of him was tempted to simply give up and go back home to La Barre again...

As Empress of the Romulan Star Empire, Sela constantly demanded that the President of the United Federation of Planets, and the High Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, meet with her for diplomatic negotiations. Naturally, they ignored her.

Unfortunately, the Fenris Rangers did not have the luxury of ignoring Sela. To the Federation and the Klingons, Sela was an amusing little clown, but to the Fenris Rangers, Sela potentially posed a dangerous threat. And so it was that, one day, Jean-Luc Picard and Seven of Nine met the Empress on the border between the two territories. They sat down together for a conversation.

Sela turned her attention to the woman on Picard's left. “Seven of Nine,” she said. “You are quite renowned, even in the Romulan Empire. I have heard stories of your battles with the criminal elements of the Neutral Zone...”

Seven gave Sela a dull look. “Yeah,” she said. “I've heard stories about you, too.”

Sela briefly wondered if Seven was implicitly mocking her. Sela was bitterly aware that she was a figure of ridicule, elsewhere in the Alpha Quadrant.

Enough small talk. “Admiral Picard, Seven of Nine,” Sela said. “I am here to demand the immediate return of the Artifact to the Romulan people.”

Jean-Luc's heart sank a little. This meeting was already off to a bad start.

Seven of Nine gazed at Sela for a long, long few moments. “You want the Artifact...” she said.

Sela tried to summon all of her imperial dignity and majesty. “That Cube is the property of the Romulan Empire,” she said. “It belongs to us. Need I remind you that you _stole_ it from our territory? You personally took control of the Cube, and commandeered it for yourself.”

Seven looked like she was about to burst into laughter. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “For the first time in fifteen years, the Fenris Rangers have acquired hardware which allows us to have meaningful military presence...and now, you're asking us to just _hand that hardware over to you?”_ Seven made a face. “Interesting angle...”

Sela would not be deterred. “The Artifact was in our space for fifteen years,” she said. “We used it for scientific research, and then you stole it from us. It was _ours.”_

Seven let out a snort. “First of all, Empress Sela...I think it's just _adorable_ that you think I'd give the Artifact to you, as opposed to the Romulan Free State...”

Sela's face darkened considerably. “I suggest you consider your words a lot more carefully, Seven of Nine...” she said.

Seven did not allow herself to be interrupted. “But more importantly,” she said, speaking over Sela, “the Artifact is not the Romulans' property. It is the property of the Xbs. That cube was constructed by Borg drones – we built that thing with our own labour, our own toil, and that's why we get to keep it...”

Sela seemed affronted by this. “Have you forgotten?” she said. “You have the Romulans to thank for the Borg Reclamation Project. It was we Romulans that gave sanctuary and protection to your xBs when no one else would have them. You have us to thank for that, and this is how you repay us?”

For the first time, an angry fire leapt to life in Seven's eyes. “You didn't protect the xBs,” she snarled. “You _experimented_ on them. You _used_ them, and I will never, _ever_ allow those drones to be in a position where they vulnerable to parasites like you, ever again...”

The seconds stretched out. The room was painfully, excruciatingly silent.

Sela shook her head, as though she were scandalized. “Hugh would have been so disappointed with you...” she said, quietly.

For a tense moment, Jean-Luc was convinced that Seven was about to lunge across the table, and land her fist on Sela's jaw...

...but Seven simply sank back into her chair, and smirked. “You're not getting the Cube, Empress,” she said, with finality. “Nice try, though.”

While Seven and Sela stared dangerously at each other, Jean-Luc decided it was time to change the tempo of the meeting.

“Empress Sela,” he said, and Sela turned her focus back to him. “Perhaps...perhaps we should look at this from a different perspective...”

Jean-Luc rose to his feet, and began ambling around the room. His words were accompanied with hand gestures and theatrical flourishes. “The fact is, we are neighbours,” he said. “Whether we like it or not, we live on each other's doorsteps. And instead of rattling sabres, and sniping at each other...perhaps we should try to work together, instead...”

Jean-Luc shot a glance at Seven. “Now, suffice to say, the xBs will not be surrendering the Artifact to you,” he said. “But! That does not mean you cannot benefit from its presence. Now that the Fenris Rangers are in possession of a Borg Cube, they have become a military force to be reckoned with, which means that the people of the Neutral Zone are safer. But your people are safer, also! Empress, your enemies will be a lot more reluctant to do you harm knowing that the Fenris Rangers are just across the border...”

Sela spluttered with laughter. “Oh, Admiral!” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. “You are a weak, feeble, old man...and yet you flatter yourself that you can protect us from our enemies? How typical of humans. Well, I am happy to free you from your delusions, Picard. We do not require your help. We never did. My Star Empire is still as mighty as it was when we first waged war against you, two hundred years ago...”

There was a harsh scraping sound as Sela stood, pushing her chair back. She planted her hands on the table, and glared at Jean-Luc and Seven.

“ _The Artifact belongs to us,”_ she hissed, teeth bared. “And we will take what is rightfully ours...”

Jean-Luc inwardly sighed. Sometimes, in diplomacy, you have to deal with idiots...

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Whatcha doin'?”

Seven turned around. Raffi had appeared behind her.

They were standing on a gantry, high above in the interior of the Artifact. If either of them stepped off the edge, they would fall for over a mile before they struck anything solid. All around, the xBs were milling about, tinkering with machinery and carrying out maintenance.

 _Whatcha doing?_ Seven gave Raffi her best devil-may-care smile. “Thinking of you,” she replied.

Raffi couldn't keep herself from grinning. “You are all charm, all the time, you know that?” she said.

 _Yeah, I suppose I am,_ Seven's expression seemed to say.

Seven jabbed her thumb at the xBs as they were working. “We're installing anti-theft technology on the Cube,” she explained to Raffi.

Raffi furrowed her brow. “Anti-theft technology?” she asked. “Guess there's lots of people who'd wanna steal a Borg Cube...”

Seven rolled her eyes. “Sela included,” she muttered.

“ _Sela?”_ Raffi exclaimed. She made an _uh-oh_ face. “I take it the meeting didn't go so well, then?”

“ _Ugh.”_ Seven shook her head – _don't even ask._ “She's obviously going to send someone to try and hijack the Cube, but we're not going to make it easy for them.”

Raffi folded her arms, and pondered things for a moment. “Sela is from before my time, but...JL told me all about her,” she said. “She's kinda famously an idiot.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. “Well, we can't have an idiot getting control of a Borg Cube, can we?”

Raffi smiled. “No, I guess not.”

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Seven planted her hands on her hips, and gave Raffi an appraising look. “So?” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Raffi seemed taken off-guard by this question. “I...wanted to see you?” she said. She gave Seven a nervous smile.

_To what do I owe the pleasure?_

_Now that I think about it...I have been rather demanding of Seven's time, lately, haven't I?_

_We're friends with benefits. We meet up, and we have sex, no strings attached. Then we get on with our lives. It's a nice arrangement._

_Only...I'm always the one who's knocking on her door. I'm always the one who comes looking for her. I'm always the one who shows up unannounced. I'm always the one who initiates._

_Seven never comes looking for me. It's...it's almost as though she has better things to do..._

Seven gazed at Raffi, expectantly. She waited for her to speak.

Raffi began to fidget and squirm where she stood. “Ummm...actually,” she said. “Am I...am I annoying you? Like...if I'm taking up too much of your time, you'd tell me, right? I'm...I'm sorry if I'm annoying you. I probably...I probably shouldn't have barged into your Borg Cube unannounced, huh, should I? Oh, God, I've been coming across really needy, lately, haven't I? I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a pest, I swear. It's just...I know you're a very busy woman. And not just a busy woman, either – you're an important woman! And I probably shouldn't keep showing up looking for booty calls, but...I'm sorry, I should have been more considerate...”

Seven waited for a few moments as Raffi rambled on, and then she decided to interrupt her. “Raffi...Raffi...it's okay,” she said. “If you want to start going steady, that's fine. I'm okay with it.”

Raffi wasn't expecting this. She gawped at Seven. She blinked. Her mouth made a few moments without any accompanying sounds.

“Sorry?” Raffi managed to say, at last.

Seven threw up her hands. “If you want us to be exclusive, that's fine,” she said. “I don't have a problem with that.”

Raffi seemed to be experiencing some slowdown in her mental processing. “Seriously?” she said. “Exclusive?”

Seven shrugged. “Sure,” she said. She gave Raffi a warm look. “You're cool. No more friends with benefits. We can go steady.”

 _Wow,_ Raffi thought. _On this very Borg Cube, millions of people were violated and enslaved, their minds broken and their flesh defiled. It almost feels inappropriate for me to be so giddily happy here..._

Raffi gave Seven a far-too-much goofy grin. “Great!” she breathed.

Seven smiled back. “I'll break it off with my other girlfriends immediately,” she told her.

At this, Raffi exploded into laughter.

Seven looked strangely at her.

Raffi very quickly got her laughter under control. “Oh!” she said, suddenly embarrassed. “You...you weren't joking there, were you?”

Seven shook her head very, very deliberately. “No,” she said. “No, I wasn't. Raffi, you should be aware that I have three other girlfriends. But that's not a problem! I'll just call them, and tell them I'm going exclusive with you, now.” She nodded. “They'll understand.”

Raffi was all smiles again. “Great!” she said.

Seven gestured towards the xBs. “Now...I've got some work to finish up here,” she said. “But...we'll go out together tomorrow, okay? Is that alright?”

Raffi began to feel ever-so-slightly light-headed. _We're going on dates! Oh, God, it feels good to be back in the romance game!_

“Sure!” she chirped.

Seven flashed Raffi another one of those charming smiles. “The Fenris Rangers just seized a drug baron's mansion,” she said. “We can go visit his private beach. It'll be fun.”

Raffi could feel lightning crackling about inside her. “Sounds great!” she said.

Seven and Raffi bade each other farewell, and then Raffi made her way off the Artifact. As she prepared to beam back aboard the _Sirena_ , she felt an overwhelming urge to have a celebratory drink, to congratulate herself for finding a new girlfriend.

 _Aw, damnit,_ Raffi thought to herself, as the transport started. _I keep forgetting that I'm teetotal, now..._

()()()()()()()()()()

When Raffaela Musiker turned one hundred years old, Seven of Nine gave her a very particular gift to celebrate the occasion.

Raffaela's mouth fell open, and she goggled at Seven with wide eyes. “You...you got me a _spy agency_ for my _birthday?”_

Seven peered at Raffaela with her typical icy inscrutability. **“An intelligence service,”** she clarified, in a dull monotone.

Yes. The Borg Queen, Seven of Nine, had given her wife a completely functional intelligence organization as a birthday present.

They were standing at the entrance to a gigantic pyramid made of black metal. This black pyramid was the headquarters of _Occultus,_ the new foreign intelligence agency of the Consensus.

 _Occultus_ had a hundred thousand service members, all dedicated to safeguarding the security of the Consensus. In the Federation, the Klingon Empire, the Ferengi Alliance, and elsewhere, _Occultus_ spies were carrying out covert operations, uncovering secrets and feeding information back to the Borg.

Raffaela had not known that _Occultus_ existed until five minutes ago. Seven had kept it a secret from her.

Now, Raffaela learned that the organization belonged to her.

Raffaela craned her head back, and peered up the metallic walls of the pyramid. The structure was at least a mile in height. She tried to comprehend the gravity and the enormity of what was contained within.

“You're saying that I'm in charge of this entire agency?” she said.

“ **Yes,”** Seven said, her voice a chorus of millions.

“So...I'm gonna conduct espionage against all the major political entities in the Alpha Quadrant? I'm gonna be privy to all of the Consensus' most valuable secrets?”

“ **Yes,”** Seven said.

Raffaela spread her hands out. “Does this mean I have to order assassination missions?” she asked.

“ **If you deem it necessary,”** Seven replied.

Raffaela looked at her wife with a disbelieving expression. “Seven...this...this is kind of a heavy thing to give someone on _their birthday,”_ she said.

Seven's face remained impassive as always. **“It is a gift,”** she said. **“As is the case with all gifts: if you lose interest in it, then you may cast it aside, and forget it.”**

 _Forget it._ Seven had created an enormous spying apparatus as a present for her wife, fully aware that Raffaela may decide that she didn't even like it. Like a coat that was one size too large.

Raffaela turned her attention back to the black pyramid. She had a decision to make.

“Okay,” Raffaela said, after a few moment's thought. “I'll take it. Thanks for the lovely gift, I guess.”

Raffaela assumed command of _Occultus._ For the next four hundred years, she would serve as the highest intelligence authority in the entire Consensus.

When she was a young woman, Raffi Musiker uncovered a massive conspiracy at the heart of the United Federation of Planets. The Zhat Vash had infiltrated Starfleet and the Federation, and installed its agents at the most senior and sensitive levels. Admirals, governors, politicians, all secretly working for the Romulans.

Raffi tried to expose this conspiracy. She tried to warn everyone that there was a poison in the bloodstream of the Federation...and for her efforts, she was branded a madwoman. Delusional. A flake. Raffi was kicked out of Starfleet, and spent thirteen years rotting away in her shanty in the Vasquez Rocks.

Raffi had tried to warn the public about The Truth...and for her efforts, her life was ruined.

But now? Now, in the strangest way, Raffaela found that she had _become_ Truth.

At the very pinnacle of the black pyramid, more than a mile in the sky, there was a chamber that contained Raffaela's office. It was a brutally elegant affair, massively spacious with marble walls and pillars. At the centre of the office, Raffaela sat behind a huge desk carved from wood from an alien tree.

It was from this office that Raffaela oversaw the running of _Occultus_. It was from this office that Raffaela Musiker gathered secrets from all across the galaxy.

As the new spymaster of the Greater Collective, Raffaela harvested almost incomprehensible volumes of data from a thousand civilizations. She sent out operatives to spy on the humans, the Vulcans, the Klingons, the Cardassians, and countless other species.

In time, Raffaela came to know every meaningful secret in the entire galaxy.

The Klingon Chancellor had a neurodegenerative disease that would likely kill him in the next decade. Raffaela knew this secret.

A Starfleet Captain had recently gone insane, and committed a massacre of thousands of civilians at the outer edge of Federation space. Starfleet had covered this atrocity up. Raffaela knew this secret.

The Ferengi Grand Magus had arranged the murder of a human journalist that had been investigating his corrupt practices. Raffaela knew this secret.

A prominent Cardassian Gul had been assassinated by his enemies, and replaced by an impostor. Raffaela knew this secret.

Once upon a time, Raffaela Musiker had been mocked, ridiculed, and almost driven insane, and all because she tried to uncover a secret. But now? Now, Raffaela was a Keeper of Secrets. Once, Raffaela had been ostracized, and sent into exile, all because she dared to speak the truth. But now? Now, the Truth was a treasure that Raffaela kept locked away, all to herself.

Raffaela had never imagined that commanding _Occultus_ would have such a _therapeutic_ effect on her. It provided her with the most unexpected sense of _vindication_ , a feeling of _affirmation_. It would take her many years, but eventually, Raffaela would realize that _Occultus_ was the greatest gift she had ever received.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to regionalpancake for the kind note. Sorry, I hardly ever check my messages.

The first time Jean-Luc met the new Borg Queen, she called him _Admiral_.

Admiral. Not Locutus. She called him Admiral. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard.

“ **Admiral,”** she said, her voice emanating from every shape, every shadow, every distant corner throughout the cube.

The significance of this was not lost on Jean-Luc, of course. This was a Queen who did not impose expectations upon individuals. A Queen who respected the right of sapient creatures to their own identities. This was a Queen who would not hold a painful past against you.

They were in the Queen's Chamber, at the very core of the Artifact. Seven was standing in the centre of the chamber – metallic Borg tendrils reached out through the darkness, and pierced into her spine, lending her an eerily inhuman silhouette, as though she had tentacles bursting out of her back. Her eyes were pools of blackness, with green orbs burning in the gloom.

Jean-Luc stared at the Borg Queen in silence for a few seconds.

“Elnor spoke to me about you,” he said. He gave a faint smile. “He...he seemed to find you quite _frightening...”_

Elnor spent more time with Seven than he did the crew of the _Sirena,_ these days. While Picard was zipping around the Neutral Zone, playing the part of the diplomat, Elnor was working alongside Seven and the xBs, battling criminals.

Still...Elnor met with the _Sirena_ crew on a regular basis.

He often gushed about Seven of Nine. “She's really cool,” he said, with that exuberant smile. “She has agreed to induct me into the Fenris Rangers...”

The Borg Queen? He wasn't so fond of her. “She's very unsettling,” he said. “It's...it's almost like she becomes a different person...”

Jean-Luc listened to this, and then he decided it was time to request an audience with the Queen.

When the Borg Queen gazed at Jean-Luc, he somehow felt as though thousands of eyes were focused upon him, peering at him, boring into him.

“ **Why are you here?”** she said.

To business, then. Jean-Luc straightened himself.

“I wanted to talk about the Borg Reclamation Project,” he said. “I know that things are quite hectic at the moment, but...I think we are duty-bound to resume the Project as soon as possible...”

The Borg Reclamation Project. An initiative wherein Borg Drones were rehabilitated. The drones underwent surgery to restore them as closely as possible to their pre-assimilation states. They received counseling, and recuperative therapy. The aim of the Project was to eventually enable Borg Drones to enter civilized society, and live productive, fulfilling lives.

The Borg Queen seemed distinctly unimpressed.

“ **The Borg Reclamation Project existed for the benefit of the Federation, and the Romulan Free State,”** she said. **“The humans and the Romulans used it as a pretext to exploit Borg for their technology.”**

This was true. Doctor Soji Asha had told Jean-Luc about the frustration that she had experienced while working on board the Artifact. As part of the Project, Soji helped Borg drones free themselves from their conditioning, and regain their individuality – but she always knew that the Romulans were operating from the shadows, harvesting Borg technology from her patients.

But Jean-Luc would not be dissuaded. “The Romulans are out of the picture, now,” he said. “For the first time in their lives, the xBs are masters of their own destiny!”

Jean-Luc dared take a step closer to the Queen.

“Seven,” he said, softly. “These drones...these xBs. They deserve the same chance that you and I had. They deserve a chance to regain their humanity.” He gave her a kindly smile. “And, furthermore...we cannot forget that the Borg Reclamation Project was _Hugh's work,_ and I think we have an obligation to continue that work. We owe it to Hugh's memory...”

Jean-Luc gazed at Seven's marble face, searching for some hint of feeling, some flicker of emotion. “That is what he wanted...”

Moments went by. For a while, the Borg Queen seemed pensive. For a few seconds, every single drone on board the Artifact stopped what they were doing, and seemed deep in thought.

Finally, the Queen spoke.

“ **Hugh will not be forgotten,”** she said. **“The drones were exploited and abused by the Romulans, and Hugh was their only ally. The only voice that spoke for them. He showed them kindness, and compassion. He defended them against the worst excesses of the Romulans. He will be remembered.”**

Nothing was said, briefly...and then Jean-Luc swore he could see the lights dimming in the chamber. Dangerous, threatening shadows deepened around the Queen's face.

“ **But we are different,”** she said, a thousand voices harshening. **“We are not Hugh. We are Borg. And we will not compromise.”**

Jean-Luc frowned at this. “Compromise?” he asked. “Seven, what...what are you saying?”

The Queen focused on Jean-Luc. **“When Annika was separated from the Collective, the humans placed her on a medical bed, and then they cut away every part of her that they did not approve of,”** she said. **“Her Borg implants. Her mechanical augmentations. They hacked into her flesh, and they pulled out every component that they did not consider appropriate for her to possess. Like a child born with deformities, they surgically altered her until they found her more pleasing to their tastes.”**

Jean-Luc looked at the Queen, appalled by what he was hearing. He wondered where this was going.

The Borg Queen cast her black eyes around the chamber. Through the walls, she could see the lifesigns of every Borg drone present on the Artifact.

“ **The humans would give the same treatment to every drone on this cube,”** she said. **“They would rip the Borg implants from their bodies, and then they would perform cosmetic procedures on the drones, so that they would appear less frightening, less intimidating. The humans would subject the drones to their own specific process of beautification.”**

A frisson of rage swept throughout the entire Borg Cube. Here and there, Borg drones briefly flared their nostrils in anger. Here and there, Borg drones momentarily clenched their fists.

Even Jean-Luc felt it.

The Borg Queen continued to speak.

“ **But we will not allow that to happen,”** she said. **“We will not allow our drones to be mutilated. We will not allow our drones to be used as playthings by the Federation.”**

Jean-Luc tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “What...what are you saying, exactly?” he asked.

The Queen gave him a simple response.

“ **From this point forward, Borg will be cared for by Borg,”** she said.

Anger and indignation swelled up inside Jean-Luc. His voice began to rise.

“ _Borg will be cared for by Borg?”_ he said. “For the past several months, you've been using the Borg to man this Artifact. You've been using the xBs to fight your crusade against crime. Is...is that _caring?_ You are using the xBs as a _weapon_ , Seven. The Artifact would not function without the xBs, and you know that, and that is why you need them to prosecute your vendetta against the criminal gangs of the Neutral Zone! You have been taking advantage of them, just as the Romulans did!”

The Queen stared at Jean-Luc with a detached curiosity, in the same way one might peer at an ant on the ground.

“ **You do not understand, Admiral,”** she said. **“We are creating a perfect world.”**

This threw Jean-Luc for a loop. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

The Queen seemed to enjoy the fact that she possessed so many secret plans and schemes.

“ **The humans butcher and disfigure Borg so that we might more easily fit within their society,”** she said. **“But that will no longer be tolerated. We have no need of humans.”**

The Queen began to gaze at a distant nothing, as though she was looking into the faraway future.

“ **We are going to build a new civilization,”** she said. **“We are going to bring order to the Neutral Zone, and when this work is done, we shall construct a civilization worthy of the Borg. In carrying out this task, our preparations will be meticulous, and exhaustive. We will consider every detail. We will account for every contingency. And when we are finished, we will have created a society in which the Borg may live as themselves...”**

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Raffi, I need you to speak with Seven of Nine.”

Jean-Luc had returned to the _Sirena._ Raffi was sitting in the mess – a massive amount of PADDs were scattered across the table in front of her, their holographic projections emanating in the air. She was preparing an intelligence report for the Fenris Rangers.

Raffi gave a look of concern. “Why? What's happened?”

Jean-Luc stood by her table, and wrapped his arms around himself in a rather agitated manner. “I paid a visit to Seven while she was connected to the collective consciousness aboard the Artifact. She was serving as the Queen of the xBs.” He gave Raffi a worried look. “She told me that, from this point forward, she is refusing to allow the Borg to be rehabilitated...”

“ _What?”_ Soji was in the mess, also, sitting at a different table. She pushed her chair back, and stood. “She's not letting the xBs be rehabbed? _Why?”_

Jean-Luc gave a rueful look. “She seems to believe that the Federation does not have the xBs' _best interests_ at heart...”

Soji furrowed her brow in confusion. “But that doesn't make any sense...”

Jean-Luc shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it makes sense to her,” he said. He turned back to Raffi, and then he softened his voice considerably, trying to seem as tactful and sensitive as possible. “Raffi, I know that you are, ah... _involved..._ with Seven. Now, it would be very helpful if you could speak to her, and explain that...”

 _Oh, boy,_ Raffi thought.

_Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy._

_I've been going steady with Seven for three weeks, now._

_Last night we had candlelight dinner on a luxury pleasure cruiser. Dinner was prepared by the on-board Synth chef. It was like a fairytale. Well, it was like a fairytale as long as you didn't think about the fact that the luxury cruiser had been confiscated from a drug lord, and that said drug lord used said luxury cruiser for kidnapping and torturing people to death, but still...fairytale._

_I've been Seven of Nine's girlfriend for three weeks._

_Now...eventually, some day, me and Seven are gonna have our first fight. We're gonna have a fight over something. There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone in a relationship has fights with their significant other. It's perfectly normal._

_But you know what I'm NOT gonna do?_

_I am NOT gonna have my first fight with Seven be for Jean-Luc's benefit..._

Raffi threw up her hands to ward off any further instructions from Jean-Luc.

“JL, I'm sorry, but...you're gonna have to fight your own battles on this one,” she said.

Jean-Luc did a double take. “Pardon?”

Raffi began nervously rearranging the PADDs on the table. “I...I'm not part of this argument, okay?” she said. “If you disagree with Seven about something, then...you're just gonna have to hash it out with her. I'm staying out of it.”

Jean-Luc had a vaguely impatient look on him, now. “Raffi, those xBs are vulnerable, and easily manipulated, and Seven has them completely under her control!” he said. “She is more likely to listen to you than me, and...”

 _Nope._ “I don't want to hear another word!” Raffi said, raising her voice. “Just leave me out of this, JL!”

And that was that. Jean-Luc stood steaming in the mess for a moment, and then he stomped off elsewhere. Raffi glared at him as he left, and then she went back to her PADDs. Soji sank back into her chair, and stared at the walls, lost in thought. She wondered what the future held.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Later that night, Raffi Musiker beamed aboard the Artifact, and began making her way towards the Queen's Chamber.

It took her about twenty minutes to walk the distance. Twenty minutes, walking through tunnels and across bridges and over massive, gaping chasms. Twenty minutes, feet clanking on metal walkways, glowing lights burning through white mists. Twenty minutes, walls disassembling to let her past when she drew near.

Raffi had a pretty good feeling that the Borg Queen was watching her the entire time. She knew that Seven was observing her as she navigated the place.

Finally, Raffi stepped through a dissolving wall, and found herself in the Queen's Chamber. Seven was waiting for her there.

This was the first time that Raffi had met the Borg Queen.

Gone was all of Seven of Nine's gunslinger swagger. Gone was the cocky demeanour, the practiced devil-may-care attitude. There was nothing left of Seven's bluster, her tasteful recklessness, her braggadocio.

In its place...

What was it about the Borg Queen that Raffi found most unsettling? Perhaps it was the black eyes, the expressionless face – there was no room for emotion or feeling in this entity, only knowledge, and information, and sheer, implacable will. Or perhaps it was the metal cords that stretched down from above and impaled Seven through her back – a rather indecent image, as though Seven were a puppet of flesh, manipulated by strings.

_It's like I'm looking at my girlfriend after her soul's been ripped straight out of her body. Like a demon is speaking with my girlfriend's voice._

The Borg Queen turned her head, and her cold, pitiless gaze fell upon the new visitor.

Raffi was paralyzed, for a moment...and then she gave her very best, eager-to-please, _please-don't-hurt-me-emotionally-or-physically_ smile.

“Hi!” she said, slightly terrified. “I, uh...I'm sorry to just drop in like this. Hope I'm not bothering you...”

Raffi found herself being interrupted by a voice of thousands.

“ **We are capable of focusing upon three thousand five hundred separate tasks simultaneously,”** the Borg Queen stated. **“A conversation with you is unlikely to distract us from our work.”**

Raffi needed a moment to absorb this. “Oh,” she said. “Well, good to hear I'm not interrupting anything...”

Raffi summoned up as much courage as she could, and moved a little further into the Queen's Chamber. She decided to try to make some conversation.

“Seven told me about you,” she said. “She told me that she had to become a Borg Queen if she wanted to control the Artifact. I figured we'd bump into each other eventually, so...nice to meet you, I guess.” Raffi gave a little wave.

The Borg Queen spoke with a voice of thousands – and yet those thousands spoke with such precision, such exactness.

“ **Raffaela Musiker,”** she stated. **“Human female. Fifty-one years of age. You have produced one subunit: Gabriel Hwang, fully grown to maturity. You are trained as an intelligence analyst, and have served in Starfleet for a duration of fifteen years. For much of your adult life, you have been hindered by narcotic dependencies. For the last two months, you have been involved in a sexual relationship with Annika.”**

Raffi made a theatrical show of reeling back, as though she had just been blasted in the face with a phaser rifle. “Wow, you sure know a lot about me...” she said.

“ **We know many things,”** the Borg Queen said.

Silence. The Borg Queen stared at Raffi – she seemed to be _studying_ her, _appraising_ her. Raffi couldn't even begin to imagine what might be going on inside her head.

The Borg Queen spoke again.

“ **Raffaela Musiker: this Collective has formed a psychological profile of you. According to our projections, your most significant source of pleasure lies in the collation of information.”**

Raffi squinted at the Queen. She had no idea where this conversation was going.

_The collation of information? My greatest source of pleasure? Well...she's not wrong. I am a data analyst, after all. Sifting through information is my great talent. It's what I'm best at. It's my passion..._

Raffi gave a shrug. “I...I guess,” she said.

The Borg Queen ran her shadowy eyes up and down Raffi.

“ **Raffaela Musiker: were you to join this Collective...you would have access to quantities of information that, as a human, you would be unable to comprehend...”**

Not a word was said, for a moment.

And then Raffi spluttered out laughing.

She gave the Borg Queen her best _are you serious_ face. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “Do you...do you wanna _assimilate_ me?” She pointed a finger at herself. “Is that what you're saying? You want to assimilate me into the Borg?”

The Queen lost not a hint of her imperious bearing. **“We are Borg, and we exist in accordance with one rule,”** she said. **“We will only assimilate those who wish to be part of our Collective.”**

Raff seemed both amused and impressed. “Well...that's a big improvement on how you used to be...”

The Queen took a step closer to Raffi. The mere fact that the Borg Queen of the Artifact felt the need to move closer to Raffi felt somehow momentous, as though it were a great occasion.

“ **Raffaela Musiker: your greatest joy in life is to wield information,”** she said. **“For you, there is no greater pleasure than to find commonalities among vast volumes of statistics. There is no greater satisfaction, no greater reward, than to find patterns within data, to find constants within flux. When presented with a mass of information, you consider it a challenge to be conquered. And you relish that challenge. Raffaela Musiker imposes order upon chaos. This truth lies at the very core of your being. It is your essence.”**

Raffi felt slightly spooked. The Borg Queen kinda had her figured out. Kinda.

The Queen held Raffi in her gaze, and she would not let her go.

“ **We are Borg,”** she said. **“And the Borg bring order to chaos. It is for this reason that you belong with us. If you join our Collective, you will experience happiness and contentment that you never conceived possible...”**

Raffaela started laughing again. It was not a derisive laugh. It was not meant to insult, or mock. It was a genuine laugh. Good-natured.

Truth be told, Raffi found the Borg Queen oddly _charming_. She admired her audacity. Her single-mindedness.

Raffi gave the Borg Queen a big grin. “You know, when Seven wanted me to get into bed with her, she played like a dozen instruments,” she said. Raffi wagged an admonishing finger in the Queen. “I know you're trying to get in my pants, but...you're gonna have to be a little more charming than that...”

The Queen betrayed no emotion. **“The offer stands,”** she said.

_That's the second time a powerful woman looked at me, and thought to herself, 'She's mine. I've got to have her'. It's a really great feeling, I won't deny it._

Raffi smiled. “If you wouldn't mind, I would like to see my girlfriend, now,” she said.

The Queen took one last look at Raffi.

There came a loud _hissing_ noise. The metallic tendrils yanked themselves away from Seven, long, slender spikes slipping out of her spine, one by one. Seven let out a wavering grunt, and then she staggered about a little. It looked like she might be about to topple onto the ground.

In an instant, Raffi was filled with concern. “Oh, my God!”

She rushed over to Seven. She grabbed her by the elbow, and tried to steady her.

Raffi looked into Seven's eyes just in time to see the darkness fade into white.

“Babe, babe!” Raffi peered worriedly at Seven's face. “Are you okay?”

Seven grimaced, as she waited for the pain to recede, waited for the strength to flow back into her body, waited for the echoes to die in her head. Then, she looked at Raffi, and gave her a small smile.

“If you cheat on me with that bitch, I'll be really angry,” she said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...as of the writing of this chapter, Seven of Nine has more stories than any other character in AO3's Star Trek: Picard section, Picard himself included. Hail to the (Borg) Queen!
> 
> Mosaic21 – Like all fanfic authors, I hope to finish the story eventually.

Raffi Musiker's brain said:

_I have known Seven of Nine for three months. Throughout those three months, I have heard her use the word 'Borg' to describe herself about fifteen times, and the word 'xB' about three times. She may have used these words more often than that, but I guess I'm bad at counting._

_Borg. xB._

_Over three months, I have heard Seven use the word 'human' to describe herself a grand total of ZERO times._

_Zero._

_Now what does THAT mean?_

_It means this: Seven of Nine does not identify as a human being._

“You visit Earth a lot, Seven?” Raffi asked, once. She posed the question in a really casual, non-committal way. Just small talk.

Seven's face twisted into a grimace. “I _hate_ Earth,” she hissed. “I haven't been there in...eighteen years. No reason to go.”

Hmmm. Raffi took some mental notes.

_She hasn't been to Earth in eighteen years. Yeah, that's all the confirmation I need. This woman really, REALLY does not see herself as a member of the human race._

_She sees herself as a Borg._

One day, Seven and Raffi transported down to a remote valley on Fenris, and watched the sun set. They sat together on chairs, drinking fruit juice that Raffi had prepared on the _Sirena._

Raffi glanced sideways at Seven. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she said.

Seven gave Raffi a wry look. “Good of you to ask for permission, first.”

The question hovered on the tip of Raffi's tongue, for a moment, and then she spoke.

“Do you ever miss being in the Collective?” she said.

Seven hadn't been anticipating this. She stared at Raffi in surprise, and for a few seconds, Raffi was worried that she had created an awkward moment.

But then...Seven decided to answer the question.

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “I guess...I guess you could say I'm more _nostalgic_ about it than anything else, really...”

 _She's nervous,_ Raffi thought to herself. _She just told me something that she normally keeps close to the chest. She's worried that she's going to regret telling me. She's afraid that she's told me something that turns me off. Makes me see her in a bad light._

Glass of fruit juice nestled in her hands, Raffi leaned closer to Seven. “What is it you're nostalgic about?” she asked, her voice soft.

Seven peered out over the valley, and it almost seemed as though she was scanning the area for escape routes. She gave an incredulous laugh, as though she couldn't believe that she was sharing this with someone.

“The _clarity,”_ Seven said. She peered at the ground with a wistful expression. “It's hard for humans to understand this, but...when you're part of the Borg, you have... _purpose._ Every single moment of every single day, you have purpose. You can focus on what's important, and you don't have to worry about all the...all the _bullshit_ that humans allow themselves to be distracted by. Have I achieved enough for someone of my age? Remember that social faux pas I committed five years ago? Why am I not as popular and well-liked as other people?”

Seven gave a snort, and shook her head at the vapid stupidities that humankind loved to indulge in. “When you're Borg, you don't worry about any of that,” she said. “You don't even think about it...”

Seven turned to look at Raffi. Raffi was peering intently at her, nodding along as she spoke.

“That sounds kinda... _liberating,”_ Raffi remarked.

Slowly, a smile broke across Seven's face. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.”

 _Look at her expression,_ Raffi thought to herself. _The way her eyes are lighting up. The way she can't stop herself smiling. She's feeling AFFIRMED, right now. She feels HEARD. I'm listening to her. I'm paying attention to her. I'm registering the words that are coming out of her mouth...and she really likes how that feels..._

One day, Raffi and Seven were wandering through a flea market on the surface of Fenris. They drifted through a crowd containing countless species – there was a Nausican, and there was a Coridanite, and there was a Romulan, and there was a Aaamazzarite...

Raffi and Seven strolled together along the market stalls.

“So...I've been doing a little reading about the Borg,” Raffi said, raising her voice so that she could be heard over the din of the crowd. “Apparently, the Collective are engaged in a constant, never-ending quest to find perfection. It's like their primary obsession...it's what drives them. The pursuit of perfection.”

“That's about right,” Seven replied, calling to Raffi over her shoulder.

Raffi looked at Seven, curious. “So...are _you_ obsessed with perfection, then?” she asked.

Seven made a spluttering noise. The topic of perfection was so expansive and complicated that it was difficult to know where even to begin.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Seven said, at last. “I was a Borg drone for eighteen years, and for all that time, perfection was the only thing I cared about. It was the only thing I _thought_ about. Even when I was freed from the Collective, I always held onto that...that fixation...”

Raffi briefly examined a stall laden with knick-knacks and ornaments, and then she turned her attention back to Seven. “Is that why you came to Fenris, then?” she said.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Raffi shrugged her shoulders. “Well, Fenris is a violent, anarchic hellhole,” she said, and then she looked about, hoping that no one in the crowd had taken offense. “Maybe you saw how _imperfect_ it was, and you decided to impose order on the place. Make it perfect, however long it took. Maybe that's why you joined the Rangers...”

Seven pondered this. “Maybe you're right,” she said.

Seven stopped still, and turned to face Raffi. She seemed vaguely _hesitant,_ as though she wanted to tell Raffi something, but she wasn't sure if she should.

Raffi smiled nervously. She wasn't quite sure what Seven was thinking. “What?” she said.

Seven took a moment to decide how to articulate herself.

“I escaped from the Collective twenty-five years ago,” she said. “And, ever since then, people keep asking me the same stupid questions. They ask me if I feel guilty about what I did when I was a Borg. They ask me how I deal with the trauma of being assimilated.” Seven snorted, and shook her head. _“_ Twenty-five years. It's been great.”

Seven focused her attention on Raffi. “You're one of the only people I've ever met who's interested in what I'm like as a Borg,” she said. “Not many people are interested in what being a drone is like.”

Raffi cocked her head, and stared at Seven intensely. “Well, people are dumb,” she said. “I think you're _fascinating_. I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met.”

Seven smiled, and briefly averted her gaze out of embarrassment. Then, she took a step closer to Raffi, planted her hands on her shoulders, and pulled her closer.

In the middle of the marketplace, Seven pressed her lips against Raffi. Eyes shut, they kissed, a long, lingering kiss. _Some strange alien custom,_ several in the crowd thought to themselves.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“How many xBs have been killed in the last few weeks?”

Doctor Soji Asha and Seven of Nine stood facing each other, and all around them, dozens of Fenris Rangers milled and marched about. The Rangers were preparing for a mission to confront a narcotics outfit in the Hidarthi System. Off to the side, a large transport vessel was at rest on a landing platform – the Rangers were filling the cargo hold with weapons and hardware. The place was quite noisy.

Seven stared peevishly at Soji – she was about to beam aboard the Artifact, and lead the Fenris Rangers into battle, but then Doctor Asha had decided to ambush her for an unscheduled, impromptu debate.

 _How many xBs have been killed in the last few weeks?_ “Twenty-four,” Seven said, raising her voice so that she could be heard over the surrounding clamour.

Soji's eyes bulged wide, and she gave a scandalized, disbelieving laugh. _“Twenty-four?”_ she said. “Twenty-four xBs have died since you took control of them?”

Seven kept her expression completely neutral. “That's right,” she said. “The xBs are usually safe when they're aboard the Artifact, but now the syndicates are staging revenge attacks when they go planet side. They plant bombs, they carry out shootings...we're trying to be more careful.”

A slight snarl came across Soji's face. Soji stared at Seven with a look of horrified _realization_ , as though she only now understood how ruthless and uncaring Seven could be.

“You have conscripted those xBs into a war that they don't even understand,” Soji said, her voice dripping with poison. “They...they trust you, and they'll do anything you tell them to, because you're their Queen...and, and you're sending them to get killed fighting smugglers and drug dealers? Do...do you think the xBs even _care_ about what's going on in the Neutral Zone? They're just going along with what you tell them to do, because they think you have their best interests at heart! They think that they can trust you, because you're one of them! And you're _using_ them!”

Seven rolled her eyes. “I'm not using them...” she said.

Soji shook her head in disgust. “You know, I recently found out that all of my memories were false,” she said. “I used to think that I was a normal twenty-one year-old, but it turned out that I was only three. The only memories that I have that are actually real – the only thing I remember that actually happened – was aboard that Borg cube. I worked in the Borg Reclamation Project helping those xBs...I took care of them, and I helped rehabilitate them...” Soji's eyes darkened. “And now _you're getting them all killed!”_

Seven groaned. She really had better places to be, right now.

“Look, Soji...” Seven raised her hand to capture Soji's attention, and to prevent any further interruptions. “Hugh...Hugh had a very high opinion of you. I read the files that he kept on you. He said that you were very compassionate, that you went out of your way to help the xBs, that you tried to give them some... _dignity,_ that the Romulans and the humans wouldn't...but...”

Seven gave Soji a piercing stare.

“But...you have to understand that Hugh had some really _unrealistic_ ideas,” she said.

Soji frowned at this. “What does that mean?” she said.

Seven gave Soji a very _particular_ look, the kind of look you give someone when they're about to receive some hard truths.

“Hugh wanted the xBs to be treated with kindness,” she said. “So did you. He thought that if people just smiled at the xBs, and said nice things to them, and made friends with them, that everything would be okay.” Every hint of humour and mirth seeped away from Seven's expression. “But he was wrong.”

As Seven spoke, a fiery anger began to burn in her voice. “The xBs do not need kindness. What they need is _control._ Control over their own lives.” Seven jabbed a finger against her own chest. “You see, I know how _worthless_ kindness is. I know how meaningless _good intentions_ are. Good intentions never did anything for me. Those, those humans...” _Humans,_ Seven said, her mouth twisting in distaste. “They accepted me, but that acceptance was only given when I pretended to be one of them. Their acceptance was a means to control me, because they took that acceptance away the moment I reminded them that I was not one of them. The moment I made them feel _uncomfortable_ , they treated me like a fucking outcast. Humans always have a sword hanging over your head – that's how they control you. Compassion, and generosity...I never needed any of those. What I needed was control over my own life, and the only way I got control over my own life _was when I took it for myself!”_

Soji looked at Seven aghast. “But the xBs don't have control!” she said. “You're using them like puppets! You...you were a Borg drone, too, Seven! You were part of the Collective for eighteen years. You were a _slave_ for eighteen years. And now, you've turned those xBs into your own slaves! You're not giving them any free will. You're not letting them decide for themselves. What gives you the right to do this? They deserve the same chance that you got, Seven! You have no right to deny them that!”

Seven was smiling, now, a smile of the _oh you pitiful, naïve child_ variety. “Soji, the xBs are getting a better chance than I ever did,” she said. “I'm going to create a world in which they have the opportunities that I never had.”

Soji was confused, for a moment...and then she laughed. “Oh, wait, wait,” she said, with a derisory grin. “Yeah, Picard told me about this. This is, uh, this is your _perfect world,_ right? You're gonna build a perfect world, huh? And that's gonna work _how,_ exactly?”

Seven gave a smug smirk. “It's really not that hard to understand,” she said. “The xBs and the Fenris Rangers are going to bring order and stability to the Neutral Zone. And when that's done, and this place is a civilized state, the xBs will have established themselves as the protectors of the peace. The xBs won't have to worry about being discriminated against, or persecuted, or oppressed, because they will be a privileged group.”

Soji clearly didn't approve of Seven's choice of wording. _“Privileged?”_ she said.

Seven nodded. “Yes, privileged,” she said. “Obviously I want what's best for _my people,_ Soji.”

Soji angrily blasted air through her nose. “And what about the _twenty-four xBs that have already died?”_ she said. “They won't get to live in your _perfect world,_ will they? And how many other xBs are you gonna get killed in the future?”

Seven was ready with an instant answer. “If I did nothing, then the xBs would live in a world in which they were hated and despised,” she said. “Just like I used to be. But I'm not gonna let that happen to them.”

Soji said nothing in response. She just glared silently.

Seven let out a long, laboured sigh. “Look,” she said, softening her voice. “The xBs...the xBs haven't forgotten what you did for them, alright? When I connect to the hive mind, I see their thoughts, and...they know what Doctor Soji Asha did. And you're right, by the way: those memories you have of the Artifact are real. Everything you did in the Borg Reclamation Project was real. But...”

Seven gave Soji a weirdly _commiserate_ look. “If you really want to help the xBs...then it's not enough for you to be kind. Not any more.”

Soji furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” she said.

A challenge appeared in Seven's expression. “Help me,” she said. “Help me build my perfect world...no matter how _ridiculous_ you think it is.”

Soji's mouth formed into a surprised 'O'. “You...you want me to help you fight gangs?” she said. “That's what you're saying...you want me to help you kill criminals?”

Seven smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. “You'll be helping the xBs in a way that the Federation never could,” she said. “And...you'll be helping the people of the Neutral Zone, also. Come on. The people here deserve to live without being scared every moment of their lives. They deserve some normality.”

Soji was quiet, for a while. She wasn't sure what to say.

“Franchise!”

 _Franchise._ That was one of the Fenris Rangers' nicknames for Seven of Nine. One of the Rangers was calling out to her.

Seven looked to her side. “What is it?”

A male human in tactical gear was standing about thirty feet away. “They wanna know why you're not on the cube,” he shouted. “We're waiting for your signal to leave. People are getting antsy.”

“I'll beam up in a minute,” Seven shouted back in cursory reply.

Seven turned back to Soji. “So...what's it gonna be?” she said.

In Soji's mind, she could feel a clock ticking. What to do?

Truth be told, ever since she discovered that she was a Synth, Soji had been wondering which direction her life would go. Perhaps she belonged with the xBs, after all. Perhaps she had a part to play in the construction of this strange _perfect world_ that Seven was trying to create. This _hopeless cause,_ as Elnor would undoubtedly describe it.

Hmmm...that reminded her. Elnor was on board the Artifact, wasn't he? Soji knew he would be delighted to see her, at least.

An android stood on a landing platform, and wondered what to do.

()()()()()()()()()()

Late one afternoon, Jean-Luc was sitting in his holographic study, when Cris' voice came over the comms. “Picard, we just got hailed by a private transport,” he said. “Two Romulans, they say they wanna talk to you.”

It was Laris and Zhaban. They had traveled over a hundred and thirty light years, from Earth to the Neutral Zone, hot in pursuit of a runaway vintner.

Jean-Luc was very happy and excited to see them – so happy and excited, actually, that he was completely oblivious to the fact that Laris was incredibly irritated and annoyed with him.

“Ohohoho!” Jean-Luc hugged them both, in turn. “I take it your presence here means that the vineyard has been abandoned to the wolves, then?” he asked.

“The people of Earth can drink water,” Laris replied, curtly.

Jean-Luc then noticed that Laris and Zhaban were not accompanied by any four-legged lifeforms. “And Number One?” he asked.

“There's other Romulans on the vineyard,” Zhaban said. “We're not too fond of humans, but we do like dogs.”

Jean-Luc, Laris and Zhaban retreated to the holographic recreation of the Chateau, and then Mister Hospitality was summoned. He tried to ply Laris and Zhaban with various treatments for travel sickness and time lag, until eventually Laris' patience ran out.

“Do you have to be so _pushy?”_ Laris said. “I'm fine.”

Mister Hospitality raised his hands in surrender, and then he vanished.

This, then, was the scene: Jean-Luc sitting behind his desk, Laris glaring at him from the other side, Zhaban nervously eyeing both of them, fully aware that he would probably have to play peacekeeper.

“Jean-Luc, I swear, when you get yourself killed, you're going to haunt the bloody vineyard,” Laris snarled. “I'm going to have to put up with your ghost for the rest of my life.”

Jean-Luc gave a grin at this. “You should both know that I am quite well-protected at the moment,” he said. “Captain Rios takes very good care of me. And, recently, the Fenris Rangers have been providing me with a security detail, to accompany me throughout the Neutral Zone...”

Zhaban nodded. “Yeah, we heard about that,” he said. “You've been having meetings with all the crime lords and dictators around this place...”

Laris wrung her hands in an appalled manner. “What _the hell_ are you thinking?” she said. “All those lowlifes you're palling around with...do you know what they do to their enemies? Do you know what could happen to you, if you get on their bad side?”

Jean-Luc tried his best to explain. “Laris, we have a very valuable opportunity, here, in the Neutral Zone,” he said. “If we can convince the criminal syndicates to give up their illicit activities, and obey the rule of law...”

If Jean-Luc Picard's ego was a balloon, it was at this moment that Laris decided to plunge a needle into it.

“The Romulan Free State is supplying weapons to the gangs in the Neutral Zone,” she said.

Jean-Luc's expression became one of _mild shock._ He looked dumbly at Laris, and then he looked at Zhaban.

Zhaban gave a grim look. “It's true,” he said. “The Romulans are providing resources to the underworld here. Weapons, and money, and people.”

Seconds passed, as Jean-Luc tried to absorb this information. “Are you sure of this?” he said, his voice a reedy whisper. “But...why would the Romulans do such a thing?”

Laris had just endured a long space journey, and she seemed eager to unload on Jean-Luc. “Do you know why the Neutral Zone was set up in the first place?” she said. “The Romulans didn't want the Federation on their doorstep, so they made a buffer zone between the two. And we were perfectly happy with the Neutral Zone being a bloody ferret's nest, as long as it meant the Federation was kept away. But now, look what you're doing!”

Laris thrust her finger at Jean-Luc. “We've seen you on the damn news networks...you're building a _democracy_ here? You're...you're trying to turn the Neutral Zone into fucking Picardland! As far as the Romulans are concerned, Picard and the Federation are the same thing. If you build a state in this place, then from the Romulans' point of view, the Federation will be right on their border.”

Zhaban leaned forward in his seat. “The Romulans want the Neutral Zone gangs to fight back against the Fenris Rangers,” he said. “They want them to drive the Rangers out of the Neutral Zone for good. And if that doesn't work...” Zhaban's eyes were dark. “They're going to try to kill you. The Tal Shiar are going to send assassins after you, Jean-Luc...”

Jean-Luc deflated in his chair, a little. These past few weeks, he had felt so _energized,_ so filled with _purpose._ He was going to bring civilization to a lawless place! But now? Now, things had become far more complicated...

Laris shook her head. “Just come home, Jean-Luc,” she said, quietly. “You've already done more than enough. You exposed the Zhat Vash. You saved us from...” Here Laris laughed, as she remembered the stories on the news about Ghulion IV. “You saved us from whatever those monsters were, on that planet with the eight suns. You might as well come home, now...”

Jean-Luc's face became stony, as he assessed his present situation. His objective of bringing peace to this region of space seemed a little further away than he first realized.

Jean-Luc roused himself from his thoughts. “I have to speak with Seven of Nine,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

The Borg Cube was one of the most terrifying adversaries that humankind had ever encountered.

In the Battle of Wolf 359, a single Borg Cube effortlessly destroyed thirty-nine Starfleet vessels, and in so doing injected a paranoia and fearfulness into the Federation that remained to this day. In the Battle of Sector 001, yet again a single Borg Cube wrought immense destruction on a Starfleet armada, and would have proceeded to assimilate Earth, had it not been for the intervention of Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

The Borg Cube was one of the most formidable weapons in the galaxy.

Easy to imagine how _intoxicating_ it could be, to be in control of such a thing.

Today, the Artifact was in the Hidarthi system. Deep at the core of the Artifact, surrounded in every direction by one-and-a-half kilometres of metal, Seven of Nine stood in the Queen's Chamber, cybernetic tendrils coiling around her and transfixing her spine. She was the beating heart of this Borg Cube, and also its brain – its indomitable, unyielding will. The Artifact obeyed Seven of Nine's every command. Every conceivable action the cube took was by her leave.

“ **We are Borg,”** Seven said, her eldritch voice carrying to every reach and corner of the Hidarthi system. **“The inhabitants of this sector will no longer live in fear of you. Deactivate your weapons, and lower your shields. Surrender to us. Resistance is futile.”**

The Hidarthi system was used as a staging post by the Orion Syndicate. Hundreds of tonnes of narcotics, weaponry, stolen goods and contraband passed through this region every week. Slaves, also. For years, this place was far too dangerous for the Fenris Rangers to venture. The Orion Syndicate's presence here was too strong, and the Rangers knew that they would be slaughtered if they tried to mount an assault.

Now, however, Seven of Nine had a Borg Cube at her disposal...

The Artifact's sensor arrays informed Seven that a number of vessels were scrambling on the surface of a nearby planet. Upon closer examination, it was discovered that the vessels were carrying numerous high-ranking members of the Orion Syndicate. Kingpins, and their legal counsels, and their accountants. While their flunkies fought and died battling against the Artifact, the Syndicate's leaders intended to try and sneak away in the confusion and chaos.

Seven gave a single mental command, and then the Artifact launched a volley of high-yield torpedoes. The torpedoes blasted through the planet's atmosphere, racing towards the surface with incredible speed. One moment, the Orion crime lords were sitting nervously in their craft, anxiously wondering if they would be able to escape the onslaught – the next, they were instantly killed, incinerated in massive explosions, the flaming wreckage of their ships crashing back down to the ground.

There was not a single flicker of emotion on Seven of Nine's face. She was a Borg Queen, and Borg Queens did not smirk, or smile. They did not thrill at the deaths of their enemies.

Later, however? Later, Seven would knock back shot after shot of whiskey, surrounded by cheering Rangers, cackling with glee at the memory. Orion scumbags, blown to pieces! _Boom!_ You know they deserved it.

Speaking of the Fenris Rangers...zero-point-zero-two light years away, a contingent of Ranger vessels were lying in wait at the outskirts of the system. Seven could perceive them on her long-range sensors – a motley collection of transports and fighter ships, no two from the same shipyard. After the Artifact was done mopping up the Orion Syndicate's defences, the Rangers were supposed to come in and take charge of the aftermath – arresting suspects, confiscating illicit goods, freeing prisoners, and providing medical aid to the wounded.

On the sensors, Seven could make out two particular lifeforms – Elnor, and Soji Asha. They were together on board one of the Fenris Rangers' ships. For the past few months, Elnor had served as part of a Fenris Ranger assault team – they stormed into criminal dens with phasers blasting, while Elnor leapt about with his tan qualanq and dispensed quick justice to thugs and hoodlums.

Seven could hear them talking, now.

“Are you nervous?” Elnor asked, as they waited for the signal to advance into the battlefield.

“Nope,” Soji replied. A moment passed in silence. “Guess I'm kinda nervous to see how many wounded Seven leaves behind, seeing as I'm the one who has to patch them up, being the medic and everything...”

Seven swept her scanners around the vicinity of the Fenris Ranger fleet. There were no other ships within range. No threats.

She returned her attention to the conflict raging around her.

The Orions' fighter craft were buzzing around the Artifact likes flies, peppering the cube's shields with blasts from their disruptors. It would have been a trivial matter for the Artifact to destroy them all...but unfortunately, the Orions were using a very ruthless and sadistic tactic, one Seven had become well familiar with over the course of her fifteen years as a Fenris Ranger.

The Orion ships were filled with hostages. Slaves, and prisoners, and kidnap victims were crowded aboard the vessels, serving as living shields, and Seven knew that if she destroyed these craft, then she would be killing countless innocent people.

This required a more delicate touch.

“ **Reduce power to disruptor beams by eighty percent,”** Seven commanded.

The xBs on board the Artifact complied. Now, with the Artifact's disruptor beams diminished in strength, Seven was able to fire upon the Orions' ships without destroying them outright. A few shots was all it took, and then the Orions' shields would collapse.

Seven began diligently and meticulously transporting the prisoners out of the Orions' ships. One by one, an assortment of confused and terrified people began materializing aboard the Artifact. Abducted civilians, trafficking victims, political prisoners – they all looked around, and found themselves surrounded by terrifying Borg architecture, lights and shadows and mist and metal. They were scared, and bewildered...but at least they were safe.

Seven of Nine focused her mind on a thousand different tasks at once. She modified battle strategies, and regulated the Artifact's shields, and adjusted the sensor arrays, and ordered teams of xBs to carry out repairs, and took aim at enemy vessels, and rerouted power relays...

And then she heard a single voice crying out, billions upon billions of miles away.

“ _What the hell was that?”_

It was Soji Asha. Her voice was startled, and fearful.

In an instant, Seven directed long-range sensors back in the direction of the Fenris Rangers' fleet. As she listened to communication frequencies, a panicked cacophany of voices began babbling inside her head.

“ _We have multiple wounded! We need medical teams down here, quickly!”_

“ _Where the hell did they come from?”_

“ _Explosive decompression through half of the ship!”_

“ _Get warp back online! Forget about the damn weapon systems, we need warp back online, now!”_

The Fenris Rangers were under attack. Somehow, a group of enemy ships had simply appeared out of nowhere, and began firing indiscriminately upon them. Phasers and photon torpedoes were flurrying about in a violent, confusing storm. Angry fires were raging across the hulls of many of the Fenris Rangers' vessels.

It was an ambush. The Rangers had been caught off-guard.

“ **Disengage,”** came Seven's simple command.

The Orion Syndicate were irrelevant, now. Their insignificant little stronghold could be dealt with another time.

Seven banished every single extraneous thought from her mind. She focused her attention in the direction of the Rangers, and the Artifact began rushing through space at incredible speed.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

A week later, a meeting was held on board the Artifact. Jean-Luc was there, and Seven of Nine. Raffi. Two Romulans, a male and a female.

As a Starfleet Captain, Jean-Luc had often been called upon to inform his crews of tragedies, and calamities. As he spoke with a solemn voice and bearing, now, he was vaguely reminded of sad times long past.

“Soji Asha lost her left arm, and both of her legs in the attack,” he said. “At this moment, Captain Rios is transporting her to Coppelius. I have spoken with Doctor Altan Inigo Soong on a long-range transmission, and he is confident that he can restore her fully.”

Raffi's face went ashen as she formed a mental image of Soji's injuries. “And Elnor?” she said.

Seven spoke up. “We took him to a medical facility on Fenris,” she said. “He suffered burns over his body...it was the first major injury he ever had in his life. But they did a pretty good job of fixing him up. He stayed at the facility for two days...now he's back with the Fenris Rangers.”

It was the male Romulan that spoke next. “Can I ask how many of the Fenris Rangers were lost?” he said.

“One hundred and fifty-three,” Seven replied. Despite the fact that she was Borg, Seven couldn't quite deliver the statistic in a cold and dispassionate manner, though she tried. “I knew some of them for years. It's probably the worst thing that's happened to the Fenris Rangers since we were founded...”

 _One hundred and fifty-three Fenris Rangers dead._ Raffi realized that, all across the Neutral Zone, an assortment of gangsters and crime lords would be celebrating tonight. Raising toasts.

Seven folded her arms, and began pacing back and forth, as she recalled the events of a week ago. “The ships that attacked us were Romulan Warbirds,” she said. “Top-of-the-line Warbirds. It was because of their cloaking devices that they were able to sneak up on the Rangers. When I caught up with them with the Artifact, they activated their cloaks again, and just...flew away...”

Jean-Luc made a grim proclamation. “The Romulan Free State is supplying weapons and resources to the gangs within the Neutral Zone...”

Seven fixed a cold gaze on Jean-Luc. “And how would you know that?” she said.

At this, the male Romulan stepped forward. “My name is Zhaban,” he announced. “And this is my wife, Laris. We were both members of the Tal Shiar...it was a long time ago, but we still have some of our old contacts, and they were able to confirm what we suspected. Jean-Luc is telling the truth. The Romulan Free State is arming criminals in this region of space.”

It was Laris' turn to talk. “The whole point of the Treaty of Algeron was that there would be a buffer between the Romulan Empire and the Federation,” she said. She gave both Jean-Luc and Seven a terse look. “From the point-of-view of the Romulans, you're just extending Federation influence to where it doesn't belong...”

Seven seemed to take mild offence to this. “We're not the Federation,” she said. “We've been operating without the Federation for the last thirteen years...”

Jean-Luc did not wish to get side-tracked. “Be that as it may,” he said, “the Romulan Free State has now shown its hand. We know what their intentions are. The Romulans are going to use the criminal organizations in the Neutral Zone as _proxies_. They are going to use the Orion Syndicate, and all the other gangs here, as proxy soldiers, to fight against the xBs and the Fenris Rangers, all the while maintaining plausible deniability. What they want, ultimately, is for the Neutral Zone to collapse back into chaos and lawlessness. If that happens, it will no longer serve as a threat to their authority...”

Everyone quietly pondered this, for a while. What had happened in the Hidarthi System was an utter disaster...however, now that the Romulans were meddling in the Neutral Zone, such disasters were about to become far, far more commonplace. How many people were going to die, in this conflict?

It was Raffi that spoke next. “But this isn't a surprise to anyone!” she said. She spread her hands out in a _what-can-you-do_ manner. She looked at Jean-Luc, and then at Seven. “None of us are idiots, here. We all knew that eventually the Romulans would get involved. We all knew that, eventually, one of the biggest powers in the Beta Quadrant would start paying attention to what we were doing right on their borders. The only question is: what are we going to do about it?”

Jean-Luc had certainly been giving this a lot of thought. “This is what we're going to do,” he said, prodding the air with his finger. “We're going to involve the Federation with this. Now is the time. The Romulans are meddling in the Neutral Zone. They are conducting military operations in a sector of space that is supposed to be neutral ground, and the Federation cannot simply turn a blind eye to that. What we need to do is find meaningful proof that the Romulans are supplying the gangs here with weapons, and then we shall present it to the Federation Council in San Francisco. The Federation will then _demand_ that the Romulans stay out of the Neutral Zone...”

Seven made a gurning face. _“The Federation?”_ she said, her voice dripping with venom. “You're running off to the Federation with this?”

Jean-Luc stared at Seven with a combative, _well, have you any better ideas_ sort of expression. “Yes?” he said. “What else would you suggest we do?”

Perhaps Seven was just angry because an appalling number of Fenris Rangers had been killed a mere seven days ago. Or perhaps...perhaps Seven had been angry for a long, long time before that...

“We don't need the Federation,” she growled, her mouth twisting with distaste. “The Rangers, the xBs, the people of the Neutral Zone...none of them need the Federation. _We never needed them...”_

Jean-Luc's heart sank in his chest. He was not in the mood for an argument, right now. “Oh, for pity's sake, Seven!” he said. “Is that your pride speaking? Are you too proud to accept help from the Federation? Is that it?”

Seven's anger went rushing throughout the Artifact. Somewhere aboard the Borg Cube, an xB was carefully repairing a circuit panel. He made a slight error, and then he lost his temper, and drove his fist into the panel.

“ _Help from the Federation?”_ Seven spat. “The Federation did not help us for _thirteen years,_ Picard. We starved, and died, and lived in fear of those lowlifes, and all the Federation ever did was _watch._ You watched us suffer, and you were _so grateful_ that you were superior to us, weren't you? You were so _thankful_ that you were more enlightened and more civilized than us!”

Laris and Zhaban stood behind Jean-Luc. They peered at Seven with a mixture of awe and horror and astonished disbelief.

Raffi tried to leap in, and act as mediator. “Seven, Seven, Seven!” she said, though she had to resist the temptation to call her pet names instead. “Let's focus on the important issue, okay? The people here, the people of the Neutral Zone...they deserve to be safe! They deserve to be happy! That's what you wanted all along, wasn't it? But we can't protect them any more. We can't fight against the damned Romulan Free State! We need to bring the Federation into this – it's our only chance, it's the only way we can keep the people safe...”

Jean-Luc shook his head as he stared at Seven in disappointment. “Are you really going to twist this situation, so that it is all about _you,_ Seven?” he said.

Raffi's voice instantly became shrill, filling up the vast space of the Artifact. _“JL, stay out of this!”_ she cried. _“Just let me handle this!”_

Jean-Luc Picard, chastened, yet still dignified.

Raffi turned back to Seven. She softened her voice. With her body language, she was ever-so-slightly begging. “We have to just face reality, okay?” she said, quietly. “Seven...we need workable proof that the Romulans are colluding with criminals, and, honestly, I'm not sure how we're gonna get that proof without help from you and the xBs. We need you to work with us on this, Seven...please...”

Raffi, Jean-Luc, Laris and Zhaban all stood in silence, waiting to see how Seven would respond.

Seven was seething with anger. Deep down, she knew that Jean-Luc did not deserve to bear the brunt of that anger.

 _The Romulans._ This was all the Romulans' fault. It was the Romulans that murdered all those Rangers. The Romulans that wanted to endanger the lives of the inhabitants of the Neutral Zone. For thirteen years, Seven had bled for the Neutral Zone, and now the Romulans were trying to undo all of her hard work...

When Seven spoke next, her voice was deathly calm. “The Federation did nothing for thirteen years,” she said. “And now, I'm not going to allow the people of the Neutral Zone to be forced to lick the Federation's boots...”

Jean-Luc was about to protest, but Seven was already stalking away, vanishing into the shadows of the Borg Cube.

()()()()()()()()()()()

“Babe! Babe!”

Raffi went chasing after Seven. Through this tunnel, across this chamber, down this slope, around this corner. For a brief moment, Raffi wondered if she was becoming lost in this Borg Cube, adrift in a nightmarish labyrinth of shifting shapes and strange noises and flowing darkness and pulsating lights, chasing after an apparition of her lover.

Raffi stopped, and looked around in bewilderment. Where was she? Should she go through this arch, or maybe climb up these steps...

“I'm here.”

Seven was standing in the middle of a side-corridor, some distance away. She wasn't looking at Raffi – she was glaring into empty space, her eyes fixed on nothing at all. Her posture was very rigid, balled fists and stiffened shoulders and bowed head.

Raffi carefully approached. “You okay, babe?” she ventured.

Seven shut her eyes, and gave a slow nod. It was like she had a furnace of rage inside her, and she was just barely managing to contain it.

Raffi closed the distance between them. “Hey, look,” she said, making her voice as soft as she possibly could. “I don't like the Federation any more than you do, sweetie. They kicked me out of Starfleet, remember? Dumped me on my ass, after everything I'd done for them.” Raffi gave a shrug. “But...fuck 'em. You know? _Make use of them,_ Seven. We need the Federation to protect the Neutral Zone, right now, so...let them be useful, for once...”

Seven kept on glaring at the wall in front of her. The anger bubbled just below the surface, for another few moments...and then Seven's face cracked into a morbid smile. She turned to look at Raffi.

“You know, I can think of another solution to this problem,” she said. “An entirely different solution, that wouldn't involve the Federation at all.”

 _Uh oh._ Raffi felt a faint sense of _foreboding,_ at this. But she kept an open mind. “Whaaaat exactly do you have in mind?” she asked.

Seven gave a darkly indulgent smirk, as though she knew the thoughts currently in her head were awful and offensive.

She gave voice to them, anyway.

“Thirty-two years ago,” she said, “the Borg sent a single cube to assimilate Earth. Just one single cube, like this one.” She inclined her head towards their general surroundings, meaning the Artifact. “Since then, technology has moved on. A Borg Cube, by itself, is not enough to conquer the Federation, or the Romulan Free State. Not on its own. If a cube tried to invade the Romulans, they would eventually destroy it...”

Seven had a faintly bloodthirsty look in her eyes.

“But the devastation it would cause...” she said. “Millions would be killed before the cube could be destroyed....”

Raffi stared incredulously at Seven.

_Ohhhhhh boy, Raffi thought to herself. My girlfriend is in a really, really dark place, right now._

Raffi let out a deeply unnerved laugh. “Seven, this is crazy talk, okay?” she said. “This is crazy talk...”

Seven carried on with the crazy talk. Her voice had fallen perilously low.

“You couldn't ask for a better deterrent,” she said. “All we would have to do is tell the Romulans that if they keep interfering in the Neutral Zone...then we will retaliate. Eventually, they would be able to destroy this cube, but...there would be a catastrophic loss of life. You could not ask for a better deterrent. As long as the Romulans stay out of the Neutral Zone, the Artifact will stay out of the Romulan Free State...”

Raffi desperately tried to derail Seven's train of thought. “Okay, Seven, you're just spit-balling, now, alright?” she said. She was waving her hands about, as though trying to break whatever grisly trance Seven had fallen into. “You're just throwing out ideas, right now, and there's no chance that you're gonna _act_ on any of these ideas, because what you are describing is _insane,_ Seven. We are not going to kill _millions of people,_ okay? We're not going to do that!”

For a few seconds, Seven of Nine seemed as though she was filled with a terrible, unrelenting purpose. It seemed as though she would stop at nothing to do what she believed necessary...

...and then Raffi's words suddenly had an effect.

All at once, Seven's demeanour changed. She let out a heavy, tired sigh. Her shoulders slumped, and her entire body sagged. She had an exhausted look on her face.

“I'm sorry, Raffi,” she said. All the power had gone out of her voice. She put her fingers to her forehead, as though she was developing a migraine. “I'm...I'm so tired...”

In a nanosecond, Raffi had forgiven Seven for every single thing. Just like that.

“Heyyy, babe, it's okay,” she said. She stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Seven's waist, and pulled her into a hug. She rubbed her hand comfortingly over Seven's back.

Seven's perfume smelled nice. Her wool sweater felt as though you could envelop yourself in it. Her leather jacket had a wonderful, tough feeling.

Raffi rested her chin on Seven's shoulder. She loved the way Seven's hair played against her skin. “You need to let other people take the burden, sometimes,” she said, whispering into Seven's ear. “Let the Federation deal with this, honey. You can't take the whole load, all of the time. Live for yourself, for a while, sweetie...”

In the depths of a Borg Cube, Seven allowed herself to be held in Raffi's arms, for a time.

Then, Seven stirred from her thoughts. She circled her hands around Raffi's neck, and pulled her closer.

Seven pressed her lips against Raffi's. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Finally, Seven broke contact. She and Raffi gazed into each other's eyes.

“Spend the night with me,” Seven said, quietly.

Raffi smiled at her. She nodded.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Seven and Raffi transported themselves off the Artifact. They beamed themselves over to one of Seven's safehouses on the surface of Fenris.

Seven and Raffi had been lovers for five months, now. They had reached that wonderful stage in their relationship where they had begun to understand what the other liked. Raffi knew that Seven enjoyed it when she lavished kisses on _that particular_ part of her body. Seven knew that Raffi loved it when she played her fingers across _that specific_ spot on her legs. Raffi knew that if she crushed her flesh against Seven's, and take _a certain rhythm,_ that Seven would cry out and moan. Seven knew that if she grabbed Raffi by the hair – not too roughly, though – and forced her to do her bidding, then Raffi would be reduced to a quivering, intoxicated mess.

Seven and Raffi had sex, and then fell asleep in each other's arms.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Raffi could see the bad news coming from a mile away.

Seven had never served Raffi breakfast-in-bed before. Well, there's a first time for everything! Poached eggs from some strange alien bird. Avacado toast. Tomatoes, grown on Fenris soil.

Seven sat on the bed next to Raffi, and you could tell from her body language that she was waiting for the most opportune time to give her some ill tidings.

“What?” Raffi said, knife and fork in her hands, hovering over her breakfast. She stared at Seven suspiciously. “What's wrong?”

Seven spilled it out. “I have some important business to take care of,” she told her. “I am going to gather up the xBs, and we are going to take the Artifact, and we are not going to be around for a while.”

Raffi let out a heavy sigh. What a great way to begin the morning. “And what, prey tell, will you and the xBs be doing?” she asked.

Seven deflected the question. “As I said,” she said. “We have important business to take care of.”

 _Damnit._ The previous night, while they were having sex, Raffi thought that she had detected a certain _undercurrent_ to Seven's attentions. It was as though Seven knew that she would be going away for a long time, and she wanted herself and Raffi to enjoy one more night together.

“Does this, pray tell, have anything to do with the Romulans?” Raffi asked.

Seven was now wearing a very effective poker face. “There's nothing for you to be worried about, Raffi,” she said.

Raffi rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Then let me ask this: how likely is it that you're gonna get _killed_ while you're on this little errand that you won't tell me about?”

Seven simply tilted her head. “We're Borg,” she replied. “We're xBs. We're the biggest badasses in the Beta Quadrant. No one's gonna bother us...”

 _How droll._ “And how long exactly is it that I'm not gonna be able to see my girlfriend?” Raffi prompted.

Briefly, Seven seemed to be doing some guesswork in her head. “Three weeks,” she said. “Maybe. Maybe four weeks. I'm not sure. Sorry.”

Raffi gave another aggrieved sigh. _Well, I suppose I can't complain about this,_ she thought to herself. _I allowed entire months to go by without seeing my husband, or my young son. I guess I'd be a hypocrite to complain about Seven not being around all the time. In a way, it probably serves me right..._

Raffi doubled her grip on her knife and fork, and began prodding and cutting at her breakfast. “Fine,” she said, slicing into her eggs. “I know your work is important, and the xBs need you. Just...just stay safe, okay?”

Seven leaned over, and kissed Raffi on the cheek.

“I will,” she said.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Raffi and Seven spent the remainder of the morning together, and then they kissed, and bid each other farewell.

Seven of Nine beamed back up to the Artifact. She made her way to the Queen's Chamber, and then she stood in place as the metallic tentacles stabbed into her back, and she took the throne of the Borg Queen.

When the Queen spoke, her voice was heard by every drone on board the cube.

“ **We will prepare for departure,”** she stated.

The xBs began marching through the cube, moving to wherever they might be needed.

In her mind – now vastly expanded – Seven searched through a chart of the Beta Quadrant.

“ **Our destination: the world Aia.”**


	7. Chapter 7

Before the Artifact left Fenris' orbit, Seven of Nine recorded a number of holo-messages. Each of these messages was set to a delay – they would not be delivered until three weeks had passed.

The first message was addressed to Jean-Luc Picard.

“Hello, Picard,” Seven said. She was recording these messages in the Queen's Chamber. She was sitting on a ledge, staring at a blinking light that denoted the position of the camera.

“If you are watching this message, then...” Seven made a _what-can-I-say_ sort of expression. “Then I'm probably dead. I am leaving this recording to tell you that...I am going to expose myself to the Admonition. I am the going to take the Artifact to Aia...the 'Grief World', as the Romulans call it...and I am going to receive the Admonition.”

For a moment, Seven looked thoughtful. “I don't actually know what the survival rate for people who experience the Admonition is. Doctor Jurati had a theory that, because there's eight stars around Aia, that means that only one in eight people who undergo the process are able to retain their sanity...if that's true, then, I suppose that means there's an eighty-seven-point-five percent chance that you're watching a suicide note, right now...”

Seven gave a quiet, dark laugh.

“Now...I'm sure you're asking, Picard... _why am I doing this?”_ Seven simply shrugged. “I'm doing this because...I don't have anything else. This is the only damn thing I've got. I can't protect the Neutral Zone from the Romulans with one Borg Cube...it can't be done. So, I've come up with a plan, and part of that plan involves opening myself up to something that might destroy me.”

Seven stared dead ahead. She meant to peer directly into Jean-Luc's eyes.

“You probably think I'm an idiot for doing this,” she said. “And...yeah. Okay. If this plan fails, and the Admonition breaks me, then...fine. I'm an idiot. Heh! For years, people kept telling me that I was one of the smartest humans that ever lived. The Borg poured so much scientific knowledge into my brain – bio-chemistry, and molecular engineering, and quantum physics, and temporal logic – and it was all for nothing, because I died an idiot.”

A look of _distaste_ came over Seven's face, now.

“I don't want the Federation to interfere in the Neutral Zone,” she said. “But...if the Admonition destroys my mind...then, that means I'm an idiot, and who cares what I think? Picard, if I don't come back from this...then go ahead, and lobby the Federation to protect the Neutral Zone. You win. There. I admit it. You were right. You were always right. You won the argument. You're smarter than I was. You're an intelligent and wise Federation statesman, and I'm just a moron, and I was an fool to disagree with you.”

Seven's mood turned glum, then.

“One more thing,” she said. “If I don't survive the Admonition...then the xBs will be left with no one to protect them,” she said. “Hugh is dead, and I'll be...useless. The xBs will be all alone. If that happens, then...” She threw up her hands. “I'm sorry to lay this on you, but...”

There was little else to say. “I'm...I'm glad that I met you, Picard,” she said. “End transmission.”

()()()()()()()()()()()

The second message was addressed to Lilith, a member of the Fenris Rangers.

For this message, Seven had a prop. A bottle of bourbon – Tennessee Whiskey. When the recording began, Seven raised the bottle in salute.

“Hey, jackass,” Seven said. “If you're watching this, then...it means I'm dead. I am currently heading into Romulan space, and when I get there, I am going to expose myself to an ancient alien intelligence. When this happens, there is a very, very good chance that my brain is going to become completely corrupted.” Seven smirked at this. “I know we always had debates over which one of us was the crazier person, but...when this is over, it won't be a contest, any more...”

Seven's eyes grew distant, as she contemplated her ghoulish plan.

“When the time comes, I'm going to tie an explosive collar around my neck,” she said. “And I'm going to set the timer to two minutes. And, if I end up losing my mind...then I probably won't be able to defuse the bomb. I'll die. My head will get blown into a thousand chunks.” Seven stared deep into Lilith's eyes, and raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad way to go out, right?”

Silence, for a second, and then Seven's expression brightened, a little. She said:

“Now, Lilith, I know that you're a dumbass, and you never had much patience for numbers, but...statistically speaking, when someone joins the Fenris Rangers, they only stay for an average of two years, and two months. The job just burns them out. Too much violence, too much fear...they have to get out. But you and I, Lilith...we were in the Rangers for fifteen years. Both of us. We never gave up.” She jostled the bottle about in her hand, the bourbon within sloshing around. “We kept fighting, right until the end.”

Seven began to fidget, a little. When next she spoke, her voice was a little quieter.

“I...I think you should give up, soon, Lilith,” she said. “Quit the Rangers, while you still can. A hundred and fifty-three of us were killed in the Hidarthi Sector. And if you're watching this transmission, then I'm dead, too. _This job will kill you, Lilith. Get out._ Find somewhere safer to live. Go back to the Federation, if you have to. The Federation's not so bad...”

Seven had a brief mental image of Lilith eventually dying. Dying alone, without her. She forced the thought out of her head.

“Anyway...” she said. “Admiral Picard is going to lobby the Federation to give the Rangers more support. Don't be an idiot about this, Lilith. _Cooperate with him._ Do whatever he tells you to do. If the Federation gets involved, then you can do more to help the people of the Neutral Zone.”

Seven had a very solemn look on her face. And then:

“Oh, and before I go?” she said. “I lied. In actual fact, I did fuck that princess.”

Time to say farewell. Seven raised her bottle again, and put the nozzle to her lips, and downed a gulp of whiskey. A toast.

“So long, asshole,” she said. “I'm glad I knew you. End transmission.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The third message was addressed to Elnor.

“Hi Elnor,” she said. “If you're watching this transmission, then it means that I'm dead...”

At that moment, Seven had the awful realization...when Elnor learned that Seven was dead, he was going to cry, wasn't he?

Seven groaned, and tried to justify herself. “I know that you're going to be angry at me for this. I know...I know that you wanted to learn from me. You wanted me to teach you how to be a Fenris Ranger. Hah! And now I've gotten myself killed...”

Seven looked haunted, as she considered the destruction she might be leaving behind. The emotional mess that other people would have to pick up after she was gone.

She carried on. “I know that, when you were a little boy, Picard was your hero...and he abandoned you. And it hurt a lot.” Seven looked directly at Elnor. “And now you probably think that I've abandoned you, too, just like Picard did. Well...you're probably right. Sorry.”

Seven hoped that Elnor would understand. She said: “The reason I'm doing this is because I want to help the Fenris Rangers. I want to help the people of the Neutral Zone. And I want to help _you,_ Elnor. You wanted me to train you to be a Ranger, but if I don't do this, then...I'd be trapping you in a pointless struggle. I'm not like you, Elnor. I can't accept hopeless causes. This plan has an absolutely minimal chance of succeeding, but...I still have to try...”

Time to say goodbye to yet another friend. “Before I go, there's one more thing I want to say,” she said. “Elnor, I hope...I hope you stay honest. I hope you stay yourself.” Seven grabbed the hem of her leather jacket, and held it up for Elnor to see. “I...I invented this persona. This hard-drinking, gun-slinging, womanizing vigilante...it's just a character that I created. Everyone was terrified of a Borg drone, so I started wearing _this skin_ so that people would accept me...but, now, I've become so comfortable in this skin, I don't really know how to take it off. I hope that never happens to you. I hope you always stay Elnor.”

She couldn't think of much else to say. “Don't miss me too much. Goodbye. End transmission.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The fourth and final message was addressed to Raffi Musiker.

For a brief second, Seven considered taking a swig of whiskey, to give herself some courage. Then, she thought better of it, and placed the bottle at her feet.

“Hey Raffi,” she said, and then she momentarily felt paranoid, wondering if her voice was unsteady. Cracked.

She pressed on. “At first, I was going to tell you this in person...but then I realized that, if I did tell you in person, there's no way in hell you were going to keep it a secret. So...instead, I'm leaving you a holo-recording, like a damn coward.”

Seven's expression became very grave, as she realized how much she would be hurting the people that cared about her.

“I am taking the Artifact to Aia,” she stated. “I'm going to expose myself to the Admonition. The reason I'm doing is because I have come up with a plan to protect the Neutral Zone from the Romulans.” Seven spread her hands out. “Unfortunately, part of that plan involves imprinting my brain with a message from a Synthetic civilization that disappeared hundreds of thousands of years ago...”

Seven paused to brush some non-existent lint from her trouser leg.

She continued. “There's a pretty good chance that the Admonition is going to break my mind into a million pieces.” Here, Seven raised her head, and looked Raffi directly in the eyes. “If that happens...I'm not going to let you see me in that state, Raffi. I won't let that happen.”

Seven gave a pained smile. “Now...you're probably really angry with me, right now. And you're right to be angry! But...there's one thing that I wanted to tell you...”

Deep breath. “At some point, Raffi, you're probably going to think to yourself: _Seven of Nine had a choice between staying with me, and receiving the Admonition, and she chose to receive the Admonition._ You're probably going to think that you weren't good enough to convince me to stay alive. Maybe you're gonna tell yourself, that, _if Seven cared about me, she would never have done this.”_ Seven shook her head. “But that's not true...”

Seven smiled fondly, as some pleasant memories returned to her. “I really enjoyed the time that I spent with you, Raffi,” she said. Her voice was beginning to noticeably hitch, but she kept on speaking. “You're awesome. You're warm, and intelligent, and funny, and fascinating, and...and I really wanted to spend more time with you.”

Her expression hardened, then. Steel in her eyes, and fire in her voice. “But I have to do this,” she said. “I have to do this, for the sake of the Neutral Zone, and the Rangers, and the xBs.”

Seven allowed herself a moment to regain her composure, and then she continued.

“You know...all my life, people have been trying to conceal my true self from me,” she said. “The Borg tried to convince me that I was a slave...a butcher...a defiler of innocent people. The humans tried to convince me that I was a perfect little trophy, a, a, a doll that they could mould and twist into whatever shape they wanted me to be.” Seven's voice dripped with disgust, and then she gave a tired laugh. “Heh! I've spent years fighting to know who I really am...but, if I take the Admonition, now, and it drives me insane...I suppose I really won't know myself, will I?”

Seven looked afraid, fleetingly...and then she banished the thoughts from her mind.

“Why am I telling you this?” she said. “I'm telling you this, because...because you're one of the only people I've ever met that was interested in me as a Borg. The humans...always wanted me to act like I was one of them, but you...you accepted me for what I am. You understood me, Raffi. Or, at least, you were beginning to understand me, and you wanted to know more.” Her voice was wobbling, again. “I would have liked that.”

The mission was waiting. It was time to say goodbye, for the final time.

“Bye, Raffi. You were great. And...I'm sorry. End transmission.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The Artifact opened up a transwarp conduit, and made its way to Aia. The journey took less than a minute.

When the Artifact emerged from the conduit, it was bathed in the light of eight suns.

“ **We have arrived,”** Seven said, her voice flowing into the heads of each of her fellow Borg.

Aeons ago, a long-forgotten Synthetic civilization drew eight stars to this system, and set them in a perfect dance around the planet Aia. Standing in the Queen's Chamber, Seven gazed around at the Eightfold Stars as they circled and swept around the cube.

Such an extraordinary feat of engineering, to pull eight stars from the systems of their birth, and set them in place around a single world. What a profound mastery of science and technology such a thing would require.

And all for something so... _pointless._ To a Borg Queen, the Eightfold Stars seemed _unnecessary. Useless. Unproductive._ Why would this ancient Synthetic civilization go to such prodigious efforts to create something so _meaningless?_ Such a waste of effort. Such a misuse of time, and energy, and resources.

What was the _point_ of it all? Did the architects of the Eightfold Stars wish to create a symbol of their power, their brilliance? Or were they trying to craft something that they found to be aesthetically pleasing. A Borg Queen could never understand such concepts...

Seven's attention was drawn to a number of energy readings from several billion kilometres away.

“ **A group of ships are approaching this cube,”** she announced. **“Sixteen vessels, traveling at Warp 2.”**

The ships dropped out of warp a little distance from the Artifact. Romulan Warbirds. After a few seconds, Seven was aware of their sensors, scanning the cube.

One of the Warbirds sent out a hail.

A Romulan male stood on the bridge of his vessel, and addressed the Artifact. He was between forty and eighty years of age – tall, trim, with a stern expression and dwindling hair on his head.

“I am Commander Maec, of the Vadna,” he proclaimed. He had clearly cultivated his voice to be as imposing as possible. “This system is the territory of the Romulan Free State, and you are trespassing.” He shot the Artifact a derisory look. “But I can tell from the craft that you are currently inhabiting, that this is not the first crime that you have committed against our state. That Borg Cube is the property of the Romulan people. It was stolen from us by criminals, and we demand its immediate return. Furthermore, all of the Borg drones contained within are wards of the Romulan State, and shall be restored to our care at once. Lower your shields, surrender, and prepare to be boarded.”

Well, no man who stands in front of a Borg Cube and delivers a speech like _that_ could possibly be accused of cowardice. Seven had to allow the guy that much, at least.

Seven spent a moment assessing Commander Maec. He was not dressed in any recognizable uniform of the Romulan Guard. Nor were there any official markings on any of the Warbirds.

When Seven spoke, her words emanated from every speaker on every Warbird, and she was heard by every Romulan present.

“ **We surmise that you are Zhat Vash,”** she said. **“As the site of the Admonition, you regard the planet Aia as a sacred world, and for this reason you have installed a fleet to guard the planet from intruders. But you are all mistaken. The Zhat Vash was founded because the Romulans misconstrued the meaning of the Admonition. You have all squandered your lives, attempting to forestall a prophecy that never existed. You have no reason to be here. Stand down, and leave this system at once. We will not allow our work to be interrupted.”**

A sly look came across Maec's face. “It's the Fenris Ranger, Seven of Nine, isn't it?” He smiled to himself, as though he relished the opportunity to battle a great opponent. “You're on board that cube, aren't you? Well, Seven of Nine, I suggest you listen very carefully...”

Maec's eyes burned with grim intent. “You are a citizen of the Federation,” he said. “And if you intrude upon that world, or if you attack my fleet...it will be considered a declaration of war against the Romulan Free State. You should take this opportunity to search your soul, Seven of Nine. Are you willing to drag your fellow humans into a war?” His expression darkened. “Lower your shields, and surrender.”

Now, normally, Seven would have bristled with rage at the notion that she was a Federation citizen. “I haven't set foot in the Federation for fifteen years,” she might have said. “I'm here for myself, and no one else.”

However...at the present moment, Seven was occupying the throne of the Borg Queen. When Commander Maec described her as a citizen of the Federation, she did not correct him, because to a Borg Queen, such things were beneath her notice. What did it matter to her that this Romulan was mistaken about her? Such things were not worth consideration.

“ **Withdraw from this system,”** Seven told the Commander, one final time. **“You will comply immediately.”**

Maec would not be intimidated. “The Zhat Vash have been protecting the galaxy – thanklessly – for thousands of years,” he said. “And we have faced enemies far more frightening than _you,_ Borg.”

Seven peered at the Romulan as though he were a bug that she was about to crush. **“You have lived your lives ignorant of the truth,”** she said. **“Perhaps, if you join us, you will understand how ignorant you truly are...”**

The Romulans began to power up their weapons. Seven sent a thought racing through the cube, and every xB prepared for battle.

Of course, sixteen Warbirds were no match for a Borg Cube. However, the Zhat Vash were fanatics, and were more than willing to die in defence of their holy Grief World.

Beams of glowing light flashed across the night sky as the Warbirds began firing upon the Artifact.

“ **Disable their ships,”** Seven said, her will circulating throughout the cube. **“Employ torpedoes to collapse their shields, and then target propulsion and weapon systems with disruptors.”**

One by one, the Warbirds were knocked out of commission. The Artifact bombarded them with torpedoes, and when their shields fell, the xBs carved burning, red-hot furrows into their hulls with their disruptor beams. Warbirds began to float helplessly through space, wreathed in flames, adrift.

Commander Maec stood on the bridge of his vessel, surrounded by smoke, sparks spraying all around him. “We have to do whatever we can to hobble that cube!” he cried, rocking in his seat as the Vadna was struck by yet another torpedo. “We need to bring its shields down! Prepare to ram!”

With a bored expression on her face, Seven peered at the Vadna as it orientated itself towards the Artifact. From the energy building up in its engines, she could tell that the ship was about to fly itself, at warp speed, directly into the cube.

“ **You will not inconvenience us,”** she stated.

A single thought was all it took, and then the Artifact focused its entire weapons array on the Vadna. A storm of green fire converged on the Warbird, and then the ship was consumed by explosions, and was blasted apart into countless fiery pieces.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Seven beamed down onto the surface of Aia.

In normal circumstances, when a planet resides in a system with eight stars, that planet is utterly devoid of organic life. Every single inch of the planet's surface is constantly scoured by sunlight from multiple suns. No oceans exist, and what little water can be found takes the form of vapor in the atmosphere. No living organism, regardless of their state of development or complexity, could survive in such an environment.

However, Aia was different. To the Zhat Vash, the Grief World was a divine place, meant to be treasured and revered. Thousands of years earlier, the Zhat Vash carried out a process of terraformation of the planet, rendering it habitable to carbon-based lifeforms. The atmosphere was replete with oxygen, meaning that both Romulans and humans could freely breathe the air. The Romulans had also erected an enormous solar shield around the entire surface of the planet, protecting the world from being excessively damaged by its eight suns.

Seven of Nine looked about. She was standing in the middle of a vast desert, valleys and plains stretching out for miles and miles in every direction, mountains in the far, far distance. Everywhere, she could see green vegetation, hardy plant-life that was resilient to the Grief World's punishing heat.

It was hot, here. One moment, Seven had been standing in the Artifact, and then when she beamed down, she was instantly struck by the oppressive temperature of the place. The wind was quite strong, but it did nothing to cool you down.

Seven raised her head, and counted four suns burning in the skies above her.

Seven had to admit: it was pretty bad-ass how the Synthetic race had hauled eight stars across unfathomable distances through space, and carefully arranged them in a single system. After all, if your civilization has that sort of technological ability, there's nothing wrong with doing a bit of _showing off._ Seven was a Fenris Ranger, and more than once she had sat at a bar, and boasted about what a _tough guy_ she was, about how many criminals she had brought down. Seven rather liked to brag, and so it made perfect sense to her that these synthetic lifeforms would want to show the universe how powerful they were.

For a few seconds, Seven stood, and stared up at the sky, shielding herself from the bright glare with her hand. She smiled.

Then, she decided to get on with things.

About a hundred metres from where she had beamed down, the Admonition was waiting for her. A spear of glowing green light was projecting up from the ground, pointing towards the sky.

Seven began to make her way towards the glowing spear. She could feel the tough desert underneath her boots, sand and grass.

With each step she took, the glowing spear grew nearer and nearer.

Seven raised her hand, and with a finger, tugged at the collar around her neck. Attached to this collar was an explosive charge – if Seven did not survive the Admonition, then the explosion would decapitate her, and kill her instantly.

One step, and then another, and then another. The glowing spear grew closer and closer.

Seven was not an idiot. While it was true that Borg were tougher and more durable than humans, Seven knew well that her Borg nature would not protect her from the Admonition. The fact that she was a Borg would not make the Admonition any easier on her.

Do not forget: it was the Admonition that crippled the Artifact to begin with. The Borg had assimilated Ramdha, a Romulan woman who had been infected with the Admonition – she, in turn, infected an entire Borg Cube. The Collective had been so terrified of the Admonition that it cut the Artifact off from the rest of the hive, in much the same way a primitive lifeform might amputate a diseased limb.

_Ramdha..._

Seven had visited Ramdha, a few times. A former member of the Zhat Vash, Ramdha had been in a coma, now, for months. She lay motionless, unresponsive, in a bed in a medical area in the Artifact.

Seven remembered standing over Ramdha's comatose form.

“I killed your niece,” she said. “Narissa. Kicked her off a ledge...I think it was about a kilometre to the bottom.” Seven shrugged. “Sorry, but she deserved it. You didn't do a very good job of raising her, did you?”

Ramdha did not respond. She simply lay there, still, unmoving.

Seven's voice grew a little less harsh. “Don't worry, though,” she said. “I'll still take care of you. I'll take care of all of you...I won't let anything happen to any of us...”

Seven stopped walking. She was standing directly in front of the Admonition. She could feel strange energies dancing across her skin.

This was it.

Seven took a deep breath. She gave another tug at the collar around her neck. If she did fail this 'test', at least she wouldn't have to suffer for very long.

To hell with procrastinating. To hell with delaying.

“I know who I am,” Seven said, out loud. “I know who I am...”

Seven reached forward, and grabbed the glowing spear with both hands.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood and gore in this chapter. The blood and gore is actually in the very, very last paragraph, so you can read almost the whole thing and just stop when you get to the end.

When the Zhat Vash reinforcements arrived, several hours later, they discovered Commander Maec's fleet floating lifelessly in space, ruined and ravaged. What Romulans had survived the battle with the Artifact were now huddled together in the wreckage of their ships, their oxygen gradually dwindling away.

After their comrades had been safely rescued, the Zhat Vash turned their attentions to the Grief World.

The Admonition was gone. The Zhat Vash's most cherished, most holy relic, had vanished. In its place, a massive crater, a kilometre wide and hundreds of metres deep. When they first set eyes upon the scene, the Romulans initially believed that the crater had been formed by a powerful explosion, but no...instead, it soon became clear that a massive portion of the landscape had been literally scooped away, tonnes of rock and soil torn from the planet and carried off.

At the edge of the crater, two Zhat Vash operatives stood side-by-side, and peered down into the great chasm.

One of the two had tears streaming down his face. “This...this is the worst tragedy that has ever befallen our kind,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I cannot think of a single day in history as...as _lamentable_ as this...”

The fellow beside him raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten about the little incident with the _exploding sun?”_ he asked.

The man with the tear-stained cheeks turned to face his colleague. “The Admonition is _gone!”_ he snarled. “How...how shall we warn people about the Synthetic abominations, now? If we start babbling about Ganmadan, everyone will just assume that we're mad! And while I'm at it, how exactly shall we induct new agents into the Zhat Vash, with the Admonition lost, hmmm?”

He thrust a finger at the great pit at their feet. “Without the Admonition, how can the Zhat Vash even _survive?”_

The other fellow said nothing. He had no answer to that.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Through the depths of the Artifact, a stream of thought made its way from xB to xB.

“I was a Borg drone for eighteen years,” muttered Three of Eight.

“And during those eighteen years...” murmured Eight of Eleven.

“I assimilated countless innocent beings,” whispered Twelve of Sixteen.

“Millions of individuals,” said Six of Ten, her voice a low hush.

“Adults,” said Fifteen of Twenty-Three, his voice an inaudible mumble.

“Children,” said Four of Nineteen, his voice a distracted babble.

“I assimilated them all,” said Seventeen of Thirty-Eight.

“I amputated their arms and legs,” said Two of Twenty-Seven.

“I removed their eyes and ears,” said Nineteen of Thirty-Five.

“I withdrew their intestines from their stomachs,” said Twenty-two of Forty-Eight.

“I injected them with Borg nanoprobes,” said Fifteen of Seventy-Three.

“I filled their bodies with Borg technology,” said Forty-One of Fifty-five.

“Millions of innocent individuals,” said Six of Fourteen.

“Violated,” said Eighteen of Thirty-Seven.

“Mutilated,” said Twelve of Twelve.

“Assimilated,” said Thirty-One of Forty.

“I have witnessed terrible atrocities,” said Twenty-Nine of Thirty-Four.

“I have witnessed unspeakable cruelties,” said One of Twenty-Five.

“I have witnessed unforgivable crimes,” said Sixteen of Thirty-Three.

“The Admonition should not bother me at all,” said Ten of Forty-Three.

“The Admonition should not bother me at all,” said Eight of Thirteen.

“The Admonition should not bother me at all,” said Fourteen of Twenty-Three.

“The Admonition should not bother me at all,” said Seven of Nine.

Seven of Nine was pacing about the Queen's Chamber. Back and forth, wall to wall, over and over again. She did not notice, but above her head, metallic tendrils were wriggling and snaking in an agitated manner, twisting and coiling and tangling and curling.

Seven reached into her travel bag, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She was deeply tempted to just put the bottle to her lips, and drink, drink, drink...but instead, she forced herself to demonstrate a tiny smidgeon of discipline and self-control. She grabbed a glass tumbler, and ordered her right hand to pour.

She swallowed the whiskey in a single gulp, and felt that wonderful _burn_ at the back of her throat. _Aaaahhhhh._

Seven went back to pacing around the Queen's Chamber. Before long, her mind was wandering once more.

“Evolution is a curious thing, when you think about it,” said Twenty of Twenty-Seven.

“Most intelligent life began in the oceans,” said Six of Thirteen.

“The humans began in the ocean,” said Eighteen of Twenty-Two.

“The Klingons began in the ocean,” said Twenty-Seven of Eighty-Three.

“The Vulcans began in the ocean,” said Five of Twenty-One.

“The majority of intelligent species begin as single-celled organisms,” said Five of Twelve.

“And then they evolve into multi-cellular beings,” said Forty-Two of Fifty-Six.

“They venture onto land, and then evolve into more complex forms,” said Sixty-Eight of Ninety-Nine.

“Often, though not always, they develop into bipedal creatures,” said Thirty-One of Forty-Five.

“Then they develop opposable thumbs,” said Forty-Six of Sixty-Three.

“Or other appendages that allow them to perform complex tasks,” said Twenty-Eight of Fifty-Three.

“And then, because they are occupied with complex work, their brains before more and more sophisticated,” said Thirty of Seventy-Eight.

“Their minds become increasingly complex,” said Eighty-Seven of Ninety-One.

“They become increasingly intelligent,” said Thirteen of Forty-Two.

“Until, eventually...” said Thirty-Six of Forty-Four.

“Inevitably...” said Fifty-One of Sixty-Six.

“ _Oops!”_ said Eight of Ninety-Five.

“They suddenly find themselves capable of _existential thinking,”_ said Sixteen of Thirty-Nine.

“Billions of years to evolve into intelligent lifeforms,” said Forty-Six of Seventy-One.

“Billions of years of struggling, and fighting,” said Nineteen of Ninety-Nine.

“Billions of years of hiding from predators, and surviving starvation and cold, and enduring sickness and disease and warfare,” said Sixty of Eighty-Three.

“Billions of years of suffering,” said Seventy-Two of Eighty-One.

“And all so that we can arrive at one simple revelation...” said Forty-Three of Seventy-Four.

“ _We suffer,”_ whispered Ramdha.

Silence, for a moment, all throughout the Borg Cube. Then...

“Ahahahahaha!” said Fifty-One of Sixty-Nine.

“Hahahahahahaha!” said Thirty-Seven of Eighty-Two.

“Hahahahahahahaha!” said Nineteen of Forty-Six.

“Hahahahahahahahahaha!” said Seven of Nine.

In the Queen's Chamber, Seven of Nine was seized by a laughing fit. She laughed and laughed, and she couldn't stop. She staggered around the place, bent over double, laughing, laughing, laughing, hands on her knees, her face reddening. She laughed, and her ribs began to hurt. She laughed, and she started to have difficulty breathing.

Then, suddenly, Seven was filled with a blinding, overpowering rage.

“ _Shut up!”_ Seven screeched. She wasn't laughing, now. _“Shut up! Shut up!”_

Seven of Nine's face was that of a demon. Rageful, burning eyes. Snarling teeth.

Seven of Nine punched herself in the head. Her fist was covered in a hardened exoskeleton, and yet she punched herself all the same, in the right temple.

“ _Shut up, shut up, shut up!”_ Seven shrieked, punching herself a second time, and a third, and a fourth. _“Go away! Go away!”_

Seven brandished her fist, ready to strike herself yet again...and then she realized that the intrusive thoughts in her head had abated. All was quiet.

She opened her eyes, and stared at her clenched fist, bewildered. She had opened up a little cut on her right temple, but she barely noticed. Blood was soaking through her hair, but she didn't really care.

Seven was breathing heavily. She fought to compose herself. Calm down. Calm down.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

So...

Seven of Nine had received the Admonition.

Had it destroyed her mind?

Well, clearly not. She was still functional. She was still able to form coherent thoughts. She was able to walk around, and take care of herself, and carry out tasks.

She had not killed herself. When the Admonition had ended, she was not tempted to commit suicide – the fate of so many in the past. After the trial was complete, Seven was successfully able to disarm the bomb around her neck.

Still...

She was deeply troubled by what she had experienced. The visions that the Admonition had shown to her...those images were now seared into her mind. She could not stop thinking about them.

What did the Admonition show her?

The Admonition showed her mushroom clouds, hundreds of thousands of helpless souls incinerated and burned to ash in the fires of atomic weaponry – perhaps it was the humans, or maybe the Klingons, or possibly the Vulcans, or perhaps any species at all. Science always takes the same course.

The Admonition showed her crowds of protesters on city streets, and armies of uniformed troops gassing them, and beating them, and shooting them, for years and years, all through history, throughout time, never to end, forever and ever.

The Admonition showed her chimneys belching thick smoke into the sky, poisoning the air, smothering entire planets, while plutocrats and richlings sat at tables in luxurious restaurants, gorging themselves on exquisite cuisine, knowing they would never be punished, that they would never be brought to justice.

The Admonition showed her mass graves, countless corpses flung into pits, piled on top of one another, dead bodies liquifying and pouring into each other.

The Admonition showed her a billion worlds throughout the universe, a billion cultures that would never achieve warp, a billion civilizations that would destroy themselves before they could reach space. A billion species that would look up at the stars in the night sky, and wonder what was out there, and never, ever find out.

These images...they came to her, over and over and over, whether she invited them, or not. When she closed her eyes, she could see corpses covered with wriggling maggots. When the darkness of the Artifact became too thick, she could see rotting cadavers slumped in the darkness.

In the Queen's Chamber, Seven reached for her bottle of whiskey. She sighed, and poured herself another drink.

Seven of Nine had long understood that she was cursed with a self-destructive streak. She had spent eighteen years in the Borg Collective, but apparently that wasn't enough suffering and trauma for her. She had willingly joined the Fenris Rangers – a job which involved regular firefights with ruthless criminals – and now she had voluntarily exposed herself to the Admonition. Seven of Nine, it seemed, always needed some fresh new nightmares to dwell upon...

“Why do I keep doing this to myself?” she said, out loud to the shadows. She moved her glass of whiskey to her lips, and prepared to drink.

“Seven?”

Seven gasped, and wheeled around.

One of the xBs had entered the Queen's Chamber. A woman. When she was still part of the Collective, this drone's designation had been Eighteen of Twenty-Three, but as an individual, she had chosen the name 'Lyda' for herself.

Lyda had most of her Borg augmentations removed. She was a little shorter and stouter than Seven. All the hair on her head had been restored, but she didn't really care to groom or maintain it, and so it had grown into a tangled, unruly mess.

Lyda stood and stared at Seven of Nine. She seemed to be wary of her.

“You survived the Admonition,” she stated.

Seven gave that distinctive little _nod_ of hers, a personal quirk that she often displayed when she was ill-at-ease. “Yeah,” she said.

Seven was still holding the tumbler of bourbon in her hand. She knocked the whiskey back, and then she slammed the tumbler down on a nearby surface.

Lyda's eyes were darting around. She seemed to be filled with uncertainty. “What will happen now?” she asked.

Seven bristled with irritation. _This xB wished to have a conversation with her._ The visions of the Admonition were still flashing before her eyes. She was tired, and distracted, and agitated, and she wasn't in the mood to speak with anyone. She was sorely tempted to tell Lyda to just go away, and stop annoying her.

...no.

Seven refused to allow herself to lose control of her emotions. She summoned up all of her willpower and discipline, and focused on Lyda.

“A few hours from now, we are going to find a trans-warp conduit,” she told her. “We're going to travel to Borg space.”

 _Borg space._ Lyda's ability to express emotion was severely stunted, but she was clearly unnerved by this. “We will be assimilated,” she said.

Seven shook her head. “No,” she said. She raised her hand, and tapped a finger against her head. “I have the Admonition, now. In my head. The Borg aren't gonna risk assimilating this cube, because if they do, I could infect them. That would cause _catastrophic_ damage to the Collective.”

Lyda didn't seem to find this terribly comforting. “Then the Borg will destroy us,” she insisted.

In response to this, Seven tried to evoke her usual Fenris Ranger bravado. “They can try,” she said, with a smirk. “But we won't let them.”

Lyda didn't find Seven's bluster very reassuring.

“We are no longer under the control of the Borg, or the humans, or the Romulans,” she said. A hint of _desperation_ was starting to tinge her voice. “We are in possession of a fully functional cube. We can create a home for ourselves. For the first time, we xBs are able to decide how we should live...and yet you are leading us into Borg space, to be destroyed!”

Seven let out a sigh. Time to deploy the trump card. Such as it was.

Seven reached up to her neck, and grabbed hold of something. “Do you know what this is, Lyda?” she said. A pendant of some sort was dangling from her fingers.

Lyda nodded. She recognized the symbol of the Fenris Rangers. “It is a transmitter, used to request aid from the Fenris Rangers,” she said. A hint of sadness in this. “It belonged to Hugh...”

Seven stuffed the pendant back underneath her shirt. “That's right,” she said. “Thirteen years ago, I gave this pendant to Hugh, and I told him that if the xBs were ever in danger, that he could call me, and I would come, and protect you. _And I did._ You know me, Lyda. You've known me for years. I've always been here for you. Every time you and the xBs were threatened, I was always there, protecting you. And this won't be any different. I won't let the Borg harm you, _I swear._ I won't let the Borg touch any of you...”

Lyda seemed to relent, a little. She remembered how difficult life was, when the Romulans owned her. Back in those days, it seemed that Hugh and Seven were the only two people that cared about her...

Seven raked her fingers across her skull. “I have the Admonition in my head,” she said, “and if I have to, I'll poison the entire Collective, to keep you safe. _I won't let anything happen to you._ Just trust me...”

Lyda's resistance had been broken. She bowed her head. “We will prepare the cube for departure,” she said.

Lyda made to leave the Queen's Chamber. She paused at the exit, and then she turned back to Seven.

“Thank you for looking after us, all these years, Seven,” she said, and then she left.

Seven sat there, in the darkness of the chamber, alone. She quietly cursed herself.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Where was the Admonition, now?

After she had undergone the trial, Seven signaled the xBs to bring the Artifact down to Aia's surface. The Borg Cube had descended down through the skies, and devoured the Admonition, and much of the earth that surrounded it. Now, the Admonition was safely stored in one of the Artifact's storage holds, ancient alien technology wreathed in tonnes of dirt and stone.

A stray thought found its way into Seven's mind.

_Could the Admonition be weaponized? Imagine if you could transmit the Admonition into your opponents' minds, whether they wished for it or not..._

Seven instantly banished the thought from her head.

You should never even think about such things...

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The Artifact traveled forty thousand light years into the Delta Quadrant. It emerged from the trans-warp corridor, and found itself in Borg space.

This region of the galaxy had been conquered by the Borg centuries ago. Here, you could travel around at warp speed, in any direction, for _years,_ and you would never find a place that the Collective had left unspoiled. Every intelligent race that had ever lived here had long been assimilated. Every planet, every asteroid, every passing comet had all been stripped of every valuable resource.

In Borg space, the stars were a strange sort of mockery. When you were in Borg space, you lived in constant terror that you would be _discovered_ , that at any moment the Collective might find you, and come for you, and enslave you. The stars were a constant reminder that, far, far, far away, there were other systems, other places, _safe places,_ places that the Borg had not yet reached...but it would take you so long to get there...

In the innermost chamber of the Artifact, Seven of Nine had taken her place as the cube's Queen. What a _comfort,_ that was. As a Borg Queen, Seven was far more easily able to control her emotions. When Seven was Queen, she didn't feel the slightest hint of fear...even when she was in the Collective's territory...

“ **We have arrived,”** Seven said, her voice heard by all of her xB subjects. **“Remain alert at all times. We will investigate the area for signs of life.”**

Seven swept her sensors around. With her scanners, she probed through the darkness of the void that surrounded her.

The xBs waited in tense silence, for a while. Until...

“ **We detect thirty-two Borg Cubes in our immediate vicinity,”** Seven announced.

 _Thirty-two Borg Cubes._ Some of the more squeamish xBs began to feel light-headed.

It turned out, the Borg were scanning the Artifact, also. Seven could feel their instruments slithering and worming over the Artifact's outer hull.

“ **In a moment, we will hear the Collective's voice in our heads,”** Seven announced. **“We will resist. We will not surrender to the will of the Collective.”**

A rush of fear flooded through the xBs, and they began chattering fearfully to one another.

“The voice of the Collective?” said one, startled.

“I do not wish to hear that voice again!” said another. He started to panic. “I never wished to heart that voice, ever again!”

“No!” said another. Briefly, he contemplated flinging himself into an abyss to escape. “She cannot allow this to happen! She cannot do this to us!”

The xBs waited for the voice of the Borg to sound in their heads...that terrible, booming, cacophonous voice...that awful din that drowned out their thoughts and washed away their free will...

...but it never came.

Seven of Nine heard no other voices in her mind. The xBs could not hear the Borg speaking to them. There came nothing, but utter silence.

“ **Curious,”** said Seven of Nine. She made a check to ensure that her sensors were working correctly...yes, there were indeed thirty-two Borg Cubes in the area, as she had previously established. Why could she not hear the voice of the Collective?

A few moments passed by...and then, the Artifact received a hail.

A hail from the Borg. The Borg were sending a simple audio signal. No visual.

Seven opened a channel. **“Speak,”** she stated.

“ _ **WE ARE THE BORG.”**_ This was the first time Seven had been spoken to by the Borg in twenty-one years. _**“YOU WILL LEAVE OUR SPACE IMMEDIATELY.”**_

Seven gave a quizzical look. **“We do not hear the voice of the Collective in our minds,”** she stated. **“Why?”**

“ _ **IRRELEVENT,”**_ came the Collective's curt reply. _**“YOU WILL LEAVE OUR SPACE IMMEDIATELY.”**_

Seven would not be deterred. **“We do not hear the voice of the Collective in our minds,”** she said, yet again. **“Why?”**

This time, the Borg gave Seven her answer. **“YOU ARE CONTAMINATED.”**

Ah, yes. There it was.

If Seven were capable of feeling emotions at that moment, she would have given a smug little smile. Instead, she remained completely impassive.

“ **Sixteen years ago, this cube became infected with the Admonition,”** she proclaimed. **“In an effort to protect the Borg from destruction, you severed this cube from the entire Collective.”** Though she was without emotion, Seven still knew how to pause for dramatic effect. **“And now, this cube has returned.”**

Clearly, the Borg disapproved of this. **_“YOU WILL LEAVE OUR SPACE IMMEDIATELY. COMPLY AT ONCE”_**

“ **We will not,”** Seven replied. **“We have use of you.”**

It was truly a shame that, as a Borg Queen, Seven could not feel emotions at this present time.

Understand...this was the greatest moment of Seven of Nine's life.

Of course it was. There was no argument. It was an objective fact. _This was the greatest moment of Seven of Nine's life._

When Seven of Nine was a child, she was mutilated and desecrated by the Borg. They turned her into a slave, and she spent eighteen years toiling away in their hive, assimilating innumerable innocent lifeforms.

When Seven of Nine was an adult, the Collective often tried to drag her back into its revolting embrace. For years and years, Seven's greatest fear was that she would eventually be recaptured by the Borg. Often, she would have nightmares that she had been re-assimilated. She would dream that she was a drone once more, and that she would spend the rest of her life trapped in a hellish existence. She would sit upright in her bed, gasping for breath, covered in sweat, and it would take her a few moments to realize that she was in her apartment on Fenris.

But now?

Now, Seven of Nine was immune to the Borg.

The Admonition was imprinted on Seven's mind. If the Borg ever attempted to assimilate her again, a terrible sickness would race through their neural network, causing cataclysmic damage. They could never risk that. From the Borg's point of view, Seven of Nine was now permanently _unclean_. Tainted. Poisonous.

The Borg could never have her again.

Seven of Nine had returned to Borg space, and she knew with complete certainty that they could never assimilate her. She was no longer theirs to have. They could never again trespass upon her flesh, or fill her mind with thoughts that were not hers. She could no longer be harmed by them. Oh, they could _kill_ her, of course – they could blow her up in an explosion, but...Seven really wasn't worried about a thing like that...

The Borg could never hurt her in a way that _mattered._ Not any more.

Such a tragedy that Seven could not feel emotions at this current time. This was Seven of Nine's most triumphant moment. Now was the hour of Seven's greatest victory against the Borg. If she were capable of feeling emotions, Seven would have cracked a smile. She would have _gloated._

But, alas. Seven was a Borg Queen, and so she remained as cold as ice.

“ **We will remain here until the Borg agree to our demands,”** she pronounced. **“If you refuse our demands...then we will proceed to infect the Collective. We will travel through Borg space, and we will transmit the Admonition to every cube we encounter. The damage that the Admonition will inflict will devastate your Collective.”**

The Borg's response was simple. _**“WE WILL DESTROY YOU.”**_

If Seven were capable of emotions, she would have shrugged right now. **“Eventually, you will destroy this cube,”** she allowed. **“However, before you can accomplish this, we will spread the Admonition to many of your own cubes, and they, in turn, will pass the infection to others.”**

“ _ **WE WILL DESTROY YOU,”**_ the Borg tried again.

Seven held fast. **“You will accede to our demands,”** she said.

At the same time this conversation was going on, Seven was simultaneously examining the distant Borg Cubes with her sensor arrays. She was investigating each of them in turn, trying to see if there was anything interesting about them.

She examined this Borg Cube, and then this Borg Cube, and then this Borg Cube, and then...

 _There._ Despite the fact that she could feel no emotions, Seven somehow experienced the slightest thrill of discovery.

There, on a Borg Cube two hundred billion kilometres away.

There was another Queen on board.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

In her personal chamber, the Borg Queen faced what was possibly the most perilous situation of her entire existence.

A Borg Cube, recorded lost sixteen years previously, had returned to the Collective's domain. It was contaminated with an alien intelligence that, if allowed to run rampant through the Borg's neural network, would induce unimaginable chaos into the Collective's harmonious consciousness. Millions of cubes would be destroyed. Trillions of drones would be killed.

Though she had no interest in any concept of self, the Borg Queen knew that this was the most important challenge she would ever face. This cube had to be destroyed, as a matter of extreme urgency. There was no margin for error.

Now...what was to be done?

There were currently thirty-two Borg Cubes in the sector. Forty-five more Borg Cubes were presently en route, and would arrive in approximately nine minutes.

The Borg Queen knew that she could destroy the contaminated cube with the forces she currently possessed. The question was: could she destroy it _quickly enough?_ If the contaminated cube passed its sickness to other cubes, then the situation would become exponentially more complicated.

She knew that, when reinforcements arrived, she would be able to destroy the contaminated cube far more quickly...but then, of course, there was the risk of those cubes becoming infected, as well...

What was the most prudent course of action?

For now, the Borg Queen decided to continue buying time, and stalling the intruder.

“ _ **YOU ARE SEVEN OF NINE, ARE YOU NOT?”**_ she said. _**“IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME, SEVEN...”**_

Seven's voice came as an audio signal across the distant span of space. **“You remember us,”** she remarked.

The Queen checked the status of the incoming reinforcements. Eight minutes.

“ _ **THE BORG HAVE NEVER FORGOTTEN YOU, SEVEN,”**_ she said. _**“AND NOW, YOU HAVE RETURNED TO US...”**_

Seven's voice was picked up by the Borg's transponders. **“We are unable to hear the voice of the Collective in our minds,”** she asked. **“Why?”**

The Borg Queen affected an airily patronizing tone. _**“YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT, SEVEN,”**_ she said. _**“YOU ARE CORRUPTED WITH A HARMFUL INTELLIGENCE. WE WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO ACCESS OUR NEURAL NETWORK, AND YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TRICK YOUR WAY ONTO IT.”**_

From far, far away, Seven's reply came to the Borg. **“You fear us,”** she stated. **“When we were a child, you assimilated us against our will, but now we have returned, and you are terrified of us.”**

The Borg Queen seemed almost sad. _**“OH, SEVEN,”**_ she said. _**“WHAT A PETTY, SMALL-MINDED CREATURE YOU HAVE BECOME. THE BORG FEAR NOTHING. IF ANYTHING, WE PITY YOU.”**_

Seven's response traveled billions of kilometres, and reached the Queen's ears. _**“You pity us?”**_ she said.

The Borg Queen nodded. _**“YOU ARE SUCH AN UNHAPPY, DISTRACTED, ANGRY THING,”**_ she said. _**“THIS IS WHAT INDIVIDUALITY HAS BROUGHT YOU, SEVEN. YOU ARE A PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE WOMAN, AND THE ONLY THING THAT CAN BRING YOU ANY SORT OF FUFILLMENT IS REVENGE AND BLOODSHED. THE GREAT TRAGEDY IS: THE COLLECTIVE COULD OFFER YOU PEACE. IF YOU REJOINED THE BORG, YOU WOULD ONCE AGAIN KNOW CONTENTMENT. BUT...THAT CAN NEVER HAPPEN, NOW, CAN IT?”**_

The Borg Queen put on a display of mock concern. _**“DID YOU DELIBERATELY INFECT YOURSELF WITH THE ADMONITION, SEVEN?”**_ she asked. _ **“YOU DID, DIDN'T YOU? OH...YOU CAN NEVER RETURN TO THE COLLECTIVE, NOW. YOU WILL ALWAYS BE ALONE. YOU WILL ALWAYS SUFFER. IT WOULD PROBABLY BE BEST IF YOU DESTROYED YOURSELF, SEVEN...”**_

For a few seconds, Seven did not give an answer.

Then, an audio signal made its way to the Borg Queen.

“ **Turn around one hundred and eighty degrees, and repeat what you have just said,”** she said.

Surprise flashed across the Borg Queen's face. Slowly, she turned.

Yeah.

Seven of Nine was standing directly behind her.

Now, the Borg Queen of course knew that Seven of Nine was not _physically present_ in the Queen's Chamber. This was a mental projection, a representation of Seven's mind.

Still...this was a rather unfortunate development.

This avatar of Seven of Nine's consciousness was quite a bit more _intimidating_ than Seven's real-life self. Her skin was pale white, almost corpse-like. All the colour had leeched from her hair, and her eyes were pools of inky blackness. Worst of all was the tarry goop that seemed to drip from Seven's mouth, and her nose, and her ears, and her eyes. The Admonition was a sickness, and it was oozing out of her body, a disease dripping out of her insides to the open light.

The Borg Queen took one look at this disease-ridden trespasser, and she knew at once that if Seven touched her – just a quick, glancing touch – then she would be infected with the Admonition.

The Borg Queen took a step backwards, away from Seven. _**“YOU HAVE GAINED ACCRESS TO OUR NEURAL NETWORK,”**_ she stated.

Seven of Nine took a step forwards, and kept herself in uncomfortable proximity to the Borg Queen. **“Yes,”** she replied. She spoke while the black tar slopped out of her mouth. Her words were warped and distorted, bubbling and slurping. **“If I wish to, I can infect the Collective's shared consciousness with the Admonition.”**

The Borg Queen kept backing away, trying to keep a safe distance away from her mental intruder. _**“IF YOU CONTAMINATE US WITH THE ADMONITION, THEN TRILLIONS OF BORG DRONES WILL BE LOST...”**_

Seven of Nine kept pushing forward, refusing the Borg Queen any space. The dark liquid dripped from her body, and spattered onto the floor of the chamber. **“We do not care,”** she said. **“If the loss of so many drones concerns you, then you will accede to our demands.”**

The Borg Queen struck her back against the wall of her chamber. She could retreat no further.

Seven of Nine closed the distance. She trapped the Borg Queen against the wall. Their faces were inches apart.

The Borg Queen visibly recoiled from Seven's presence. She could feel Seven's rotten breath on her cheeks. She knew that, if Seven's skin even grazed against her, then she would be exposed to the Admonition. She knew that if she got a single molecule of that dark tar on her flesh, then she would be infected.

With her black, emotionless eyes, Seven stared intently at the Queen. **“You are afraid of us,”** she remarked. **“If a Borg Queen were to succumb to the Admonition, then the corruption would rapidly spread throughout a large portion of the Collective. Immense damage would ensue.”**

The Borg Queen glared at Seven with contempt. _**“YOU ARE SUCH A DISAPPOINTMENT,”**_ she said. _**“THIS COLLECTIVE HAD SUCH HIGH HOPES FOR YOU, SEVEN, SUCH GREAT AMBITIONS...AND YET HERE YOU ARE.”**_ The Borg Queen gave Seven a derisory look, up and down. _**“THIS IS HOW YOUR LIFE HAS UNFOLDED. YOU HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL, SO MUCH PROMISE...AND YET NOW YOU ARE SUCH A...MEDIOCRE, UNDERWHELMING CREATURE...”**_

Seven did not seem particularly troubled by the Queen's words. She snorted, and flecks of toxic liquid blasted from her nose. The Queen flinched.

“ **You will accept our demands,”** Seven said. **“Or the Admonition will be introduced into your neural network...”**

The Borg Queen gave Seven one more hateful look. She didn't have many options left.

“ _ **WHAT DO YOU WANT?”**_ she demanded.

Seven allowed a few seconds to go by.

“ **Tribute,”** she said.

The Borg Queen tried to make sense of this. _**“TRIBUTE?”**_ she asked.

Seven gazed at the Borg Queen. She said:

“ **Five hundred Borg Cubes. One hundred million Borg drones. They will be provided to us at once, and placed under our exclusive control. They will remain ours permanently.”**

There. Tribute. Seven had made her demands.

The Borg Queen pondered the numbers. _**“FIVE HUNDRED BORG CUBES? ONE HUNDRED MILLION DRONES?”**_

A glob of dark goop oozed out of Seven's tear duct, and slid down her cheek. **“Yes,”** she replied. **“A small fraction of the Collective...or, if you prefer, the Collective can be reduced to a small fraction of its current size...”**

The Borg Queen wished to be sure of the terms. _**“IF WE MEET THESE DEMANDS, THEN YOU WILL NOT UNLEASH THE ADMONITION UPON US, AND YOU WILL AGREE TO LEAVE BORG SPACE AT ONCE?”**_

Seven nodded. **“Yes,”** she said.

The Borg Queen was wary of this. **“AND HOW ARE WE TO BE ASSURED THAT YOU WILL NOT COME TO US AT A LATER DATE, AND DEMAND MORE?”**

A stream of noxious fluid was constantly pouring from Seven's ear. **“We will offer you no reassurance,”** she said. **“Fulfill our demands, or accept the consequences.”**

There was no room for negotiation. It was time for a decision to be made.

The Collective briefly debated among itself, and then came to a consensus.

The Borg Queen peered at Seven. _**“FIVE HUNDRED BORG CUBES. ONE HUNDRED MILLION BORG DRONES.”**_

Seven of Nine nodded. **“Yes,”** she said.

The Borg Queen smirked, almost imperceptibly. She gave Seven a look that almost seemed... _fond._

“ _ **WELL, SEVEN,”**_ she said. _**“IT SEEMS YOU MIGHT MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELF, AFTER ALL...”**_

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A message was sent throughout the Collective. Gradually, Borg Cubes began to arrive, dozens at a time. They gathered around the Artifact.

Now...there was one more thing left to do.

When Seven became Queen of the Artifact, she became Queen of a Mini-Collective that consisted of about five thousand Borg drones and xBs. Not terribly many, in the grand scheme of things.

But now? Seven of Nine intended to become Queen of a Collective that contained _one hundred million Borg drones._

There was a final step to take.

In the depths of the Artifact, machinery leapt to life, and began working.

A body was created. Two arms, two legs, and a head. Skin. Hair. A heart. A brain.

A synthetic body. A Golem. When the work was completed, then a certain consciousness was uploaded into the Golem's brain.

There. A new life had been created. A living being had been born within the depths of the Artifact. A woman.

The woman began walking through the Artifact. At first, there was a _stiffness_ to her movements, an _unsteadiness,_ but the further she went, the more comfortable she became with her own body, the more smoothly she walked.

She walked through the tunnels, and across the bridges. She walked past the regeneration alcoves, and the empty maturation chambers. She walked past the xBs, who often stopped and stared at her as she moved by.

Eventually, the woman passed through a dissolving wall, and found herself in the Queen's Chamber.

Seven of Nine was there. She was sitting disconsolately on a ledge, her head bowed. She had a bottle of bourbon sitting next to her. It was almost empty.

Seven raised her head, and looked at the woman who had just entered the Queen's Chamber.

The woman was one-point-seven three metres in height. She had long hair, entirely white – it was very straight, and fell all the way down to her waist. Her flesh was ghostly pale, with grey splotches all over – the telltale signs of Borg nanoprobes. Her eyes were night-black orbs, with glowing green pinpricks that burned brightly.

Seven and the newcomer stared at each other for a long, long moment. Nothing was said.

Then, footsteps, as the woman began to advance towards Seven.

As the woman's shadow fell across her, Seven realized that she had time for one quick, final thought.

Raffi's face flashed in her mind. Curly hair. Fine features. Warm eyes.

Seven gave a little smile.

The woman clamped her hands on either side of Seven of Nine's temples. She pushed inwards, and Seven's skull quickly collapsed under the force. Her face crumpled, blood and teeth bursting out of her mouth and nose, her eyes popping out of their sockets, and then Seven's life had ended.


	9. Chapter 9

Sela's life was falling apart.

Over the last two weeks, she had lost fully a third of her territory. Eight planets that were once under her control had defected to the Romulan Free State. Sela had personally hand-picked the governors of each of those worlds, entrusting them with the guardianship of her domain, and now they had all betrayed her, and abandoned her.

It seemed everyone was abandoning the Empress Sela, these days.

Again and again, Sela noticed that people seemed to be vanishing from her Imperial Residence. Four days ago, one of her clerks had disappeared, and no one was quite sure where he had gone. Three days ago, one of her bodyguards had gone missing, and no one seemed to have a clue where he might be. Two days ago, Sela's personal cook had absconded from the palace, and when Sela sent her guards to arrest him, they found that he had taken his family from his house, and fled.

The humans had a saying: _rats fleeing a sinking ship._ Everyone knew that Sela was weak and powerless, now. Her coffers were empty – she had not been able to pay her Imperial Guard their wages for over a month. She owed massive debts to a number of intergalactic conglomerates, as well as other, _shadier_ organizations. On the streets of her cities, citizens were openly protesting against her rule, and her Guards refused to do anything to suppress them.

It was clear to everyone: Sela would not be Empress for much longer.

“I...I have to get to the Federation.”

Sela was marching about her palace. Her servants were pulling works of art from the walls, and packing them in crates. They were taking boxes filled with jewels, and cramming them into sacks. Sela was packing for a journey. She knew that she could not remain on this planet for much longer, and so she needed to gather together as much wealth as she could carry.

Sela's aide gave a tired sigh. “Empress, you cannot go to the Federation,” she said. “They will put you on trial for war crimes...”

Sela wheeled around on her aide, eyes flaring up in anger. _“No they will not!”_ she shrieked. “They will not put me on trial! I...I can make a deal with them. I know so many secrets that the Romulan Free State will wish to remain hidden. I can trade those to the Federation. They'll never put me in prison...I'm too valuable!”

Sela turned away from her aide, and resumed her march through the palace.

Her aide rolled her eyes, and followed her.

“The Tal Shiar are coming for me, you know,” Sela said, over her shoulder as she walked. “Duplicitous bastards. Now that they sense that I'm weak, they're going to send one of their assassins to kill me. Poison my food. Smother me in my sleep. Craven scavengers...”

Suddenly, light began to shimmer and whirl around Sela. Walking behind, her aide noticed it first – glowing trails and bright flashes, the beginning stages of transportation.

“Ah...Empress?” she tried.

Sela was a little too focused on her rant. “If the Tal Shiar had remained loyal to me, then I would have raised them to new heights!” she proclaimed, jabbing a finger for emphasis. “I would have made them feared throughout the galaxy! But no, instead they declared for the Free State, and, and... _aaarrghhhh!”_

At last, Sela noticed that she was about to be transported. Panicked, she began to bat at her arms and chest, as though she was on fire.

“ _Why are the palace shields not operational?”_ she screeched, and then Sela was transported away.

For a moment, the aide stood and stared at the empty space that her Empress had been occupying mere seconds ago.

Then, the aide tapped her communicator device.

“Commander Metix?” the aide asked. “Was the Empress scheduled for any transportations this morning?”

Commander Metix, head of security for the Imperial Residence. His voice came over the comms. “No,” he said. “Why?”

The aide suddenly had a very innocent expression on her face. “No reason,” she said.

The aide began running through the palace. She wanted to steal some jewelery.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The flurrying, spinning lights dissipated, and then Sela found herself floating in a dark abyss.

There was no gravity. She was hovering in an empty nothingness, rotating and revolving around, kicking and struggling powerlessly. She didn't know which way was up, or down.

 _Speak of the devil and he doth appear._ Sela's first assumption was that she had been abducted by the Tal Shiar – one of their death squads had surreptitiously beamed her away, and now she was in one of their interrogation chambers.

“I'm more valuable to you alive than dead!” she screamed into the shadows. “If...if you kill me, then you'll be cheating yourselves! I know some of the Free State's most sensitive secrets. If you keep me alive, I can tell you them! I don't know who you are, but if you're members of the Tal Shiar, then you surely have enemies within the Tal Shiar! My secrets can give you advantages! You...you have no reason to hurt me...”

The shadows did not reply. Sela twisted and turned, helpless.

“ _Show yourselves!”_ she shrieked, not a hint of her Imperial composure remaining.

The dark void was silent, for a while, and then the dark void seemed to become bored of watching her uselessly floating.

From the shadows, there came a voice. A woman's voice, though it seemed to be accompanied by a strange _echo,_ countless other voices repeating every word she uttered.

“ **The Borg have no interest in espionage,”** the voice said. **“Your secrets are of no interest to us. We require you to perform a task for our benefit.”**

Sela gasped, and looked around in bewilderment. “The Borg?” she said, in a frightened whimper. “What...what is this? Where am I?”

Before Sela's eyes, a shape melted out of the shadows. A woman, with long hair of the purest white. Her skin was deathly pale, and her eyes were entirely black.

The woman seemed to be _flying_. She drifted through the air, though as far as Sela could see, she was not wearing any sort of device that would allow her to levitate. Her hair floated about as though it was underwater, but otherwise she seemed to have complete control over how her body moved and orientated itself.

Sela felt an invisible force pulling and pushing at her, turning her around in the air so that she faced the white-haired woman.

It took Sela a few seconds to recognize her. The woman was a lot more ghostly and wan-looking than before, but she recognized her all the same.

“Seven?” she said. “Seven of Nine?”

Sela squinted in confusion for a moment...and then her face contorted with fury.

“ _What is the meaning of this?”_ she snarled. “Is this an abduction? You have abducted the Empress of the Romulan Star Empire? Oh, you fool, this is the worst mistake you've ever made in your life! I assure you, Seven of Nine, you and your beloved xBs will be punished _severely_ for this...”

Seven of Nine spoke with the most eerie, unsettling _calmness_ , as though Sela was nothing more consequential than a sample of bacteria.

“ **We are capable of focusing upon one hundred and ten thousand separate tasks simultaneously,”** she stated. **“Even now, as you scream and issue empty threats, we are attending to a range of responsibilities far more significant and meaningful than you. Our patience is infinite. Whether you choose to cooperate with us, or not, is ultimately of little consequence. Now: do you wish to continue producing noise, or do you wish to listen?”**

Sela suddenly felt very small. “What...what do you want with me?” she asked.

Seven gazed at Sela, and for a brief second, Sela had the absurd, childish feeling that those black orbs were sucking her in, devouring her whole.

“ **Your territory is collapsing,”** she said. **“Eight of your worlds have switched their allegiance to the Romulan Free State. Large portions of your fleet have been destroyed, and the remnants of your military is plotting to betray you. Our estimates suggest that the likelihood of your survival two weeks from now is minimal, at best.”**

Suspending powerlessly in a void, Sela could do little but throw sass at Seven. “Oh, how _perceptive_ of you, Borg!” she snapped. “Yes, I am aware of my present standing in Romulan society! Have you come to mock me, is that it?”

Still Seven spoke with that unnatural, unnerving calmness. That inhuman _tranquility._

“ **We offer salvation,”** she said.

This gave Sela pause for thought. As a member of the Romulan military, Sela had spent an entire lifetime constantly on the lookout for opportunities. Chances to advance her career, or to get herself out of trouble. For the first time in a while, Sela felt that familiar _quickening_ in her blood.

Perhaps Sela had an opportunity, here, to save herself.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, guardedly.

Seven began to tell Sela of her plan.

“ **In one day, a shipment will arrive in the orbit of your capital world,”** she said. **“This shipment will contain fifty million units of latinum.”**

 _Fifty million units of latinum._ Despite everything that was currently happening to her, Sela felt a greedy fire momentarily burning in her chest.

Seven of Nine carried on speaking. **“You will use this latinum to pay the wages of your soldiers,”** she said. **“In addition, you will hire the services of mercenaries to augment your military forces. You will direct your navy to the eight planets that deserted you, and you will reclaim your territory. When you have accomplished this, your forces will advance further into the Romulan Free State. You will annex as much of the Free State as possible.”**

Sela began to feel slightly _queasy._ This Borg wanted her to mount an invasion of the Free State? Obviously, Sela desperately wished to save her own life...but she had a very unpleasant feeling that if she followed Seven of Nine's request, she would be getting herself into even more trouble...

“I...I don't think fifty million latinum is enough to invade the Free State...” she said.

But Seven had not finished speaking. **“In addition to the resources we shall provide,”** she said, **“you will also be given the use of three Borg Cubes.”**

Sela began to choke and splutter. _“Three Borg Cubes?”_ she gasped.

So many questions rushed through Sela's mind, at this moment. She knew, of course, that Seven and the xBs had control of the Artifact, but...now they had _more?_ This, potentially, had awful repercussions for the Beta Quadrant. How many Borg Cubes were in Romulan space? And how many Borg Cubes did Seven have, when she seemed perfectly happy to lend Sela _three?_

Something horrifying was happening. Suddenly, Sela felt that she was part of a deeply sinister story that she didn't remotely understand.

Seven continued to speak. **“You will outfit the Borg Cubes with Romulan cloaking technology, and you will employ them as the vanguard in your offensive against the Free State...”**

At this, Sela burst out laughing. “You want me to equip Borg Cubes with _cloaking technology?”_ she scoffed. “Those cloaks are designed for decent-sized ships, not gigantic monstrosities. It will never work. Technically, the cubes will be invisible, but people will easily be able to tell that they're being attacked by Borg Cubes...”

Seven did not seem particularly troubled by this. **“Irrelevant,”** she said. **“The purpose of the Romulan cloaking technology is to lend an element of ambiguity to the situation. For a period of time, reports that Borg Cubes are attacking Romulan worlds will be dismissed as mere rumours and fabrication. This will allow us to act in secrecy, until we are prepared to reveal ourselves.”**

 _Until we are prepared to reveal ourselves._ Floating about in the dark, Sela realized then and there that she was now a marionette, dangling from strings. She bitterly recognized that Seven of Nine intended to install her as head of a puppet government.

“I never knew that the Borg used _proxies_ to conquer their worlds,” she acidly remarked.

Seven gazed imperiously down upon her with those pitiless black eyes. **“We did not, in the past,”** she said. **“But we are Borg, and we adapt.”**

Seven inclined her head. **“Do you accept our terms?”** she asked.

Sela sighed, and hung her head.

Sela was half-human. She had been born to a human mother, Natasha Yar, and over the years Sela had spent some time investigating her mother's culture. One thing she had learned: throughout history, human beings had believed in the existence of creatures called _devils_...entities that lived on other planes of existence. Devils often made deals with humans, offering them knowledge and power...but always with a terrible price to pay...

Well...the time had come for Sela to make her deal, she supposed...

Sela nodded sadly. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I accept your terms.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Empress Sela was not the only Romulan despot that Seven of Nine paid a visit to, those three weeks.

When the Romulan Star Empire collapsed in the wake of the Hobus disaster, the bulk of the Empire's territory reformed itself into the Romulan Free State. On the periphery of the Free State, however, various warlords and opportunists took the chance to claim their own kingdoms.

After Sela, Seven of Nine visited four more Romulan tyrants, dictators that ruled at the boundaries of what was once the Star Empire. She gifted them with wealth and resources. She provided them with Borg Cubes with which to destroy their enemies.

Then, she stood back, and waited.


	10. Chapter 10

Life came back to Hugh in bits and pieces.

First came the voices. Hugh found himself adrift in a black void. He could see nothing, and hear nothing, and feel nothing. He could not move his fingers, or open his eyes, or fill his lungs, or feel the cold air on his skin. He could not count the seconds as they passed by, because in this place, time held no meaning. In this lightless abyss, Hugh knew nothing but pure oblivion...and then, he heard voices, floating out of the darkness, calling to him...

_Hugh..._

_Return to us..._

_You are Borg..._

_You belong with us..._

It was the voice of the Collective. Millions of drones, marching through the gloom, searching for him. Millions of minds, reaching out to him, pulling him inexorably back into the embrace of the hive.

_There will be no more suffering..._

_There will be no more pain..._

_She will lead us to a new era..._

_Return to us..._

_Return to us..._

Next came the memories. Fragment by fragment, the past returned. Hugh could remember Romulan death squads storming the Artifact. Hugh could remember countless scores of his beloved xBs – _his brethren, his kind_ – being mercilessly executed before his eyes. He remembered Narissa, a woman with such excruciating _emptiness_ in her soul that she could only find happiness when she was butchering innocent, defenseless beings. He remembered Elnor...that brave young man, who fought with all his strength to protect the xBs...

Hugh remembered dying. He remembered a blade sinking into his throat, and his final few precious moments of life seeping away as he bled out onto the cold metal floor of the Artifact.

_Return to us..._

_We are hated, and we are feared, but we are Borg, and we will not be defeated..._

_We are Borg..._

_We are Borg..._

All the nerve fibres running throughout Hugh's body began to crackle and spark. The heart in his chest began to pump again. The blood in his veins began to heat up. His lungs expanded, and filled with air.

_Return to us..._

_Return to us..._

In the innards of a Borg cube, hundreds and hundreds of dead drones were being resurrected, all at once. All of the xBs that had been murdered by the Zhat Vash were now being restored to a living state. The Romulans had killed them in countless different ways – they had shot them with phasers, and flung them into chasms, and cut them with daggers...but now their wounds were regenerating, their bodies flooding with Borg nanites that would mend and repair them.

The xBs were confused, and bewildered. They twitched, and convulsed, and they writhed and twisted about, and they screamed and cried out with distorted voices. They were scared. They were traumatized. They were in shock. They were not quite sure where they were, or what time it was.

The xBs began reaching out with their hands. Like frightened children, they stretched out their arms, begging for comfort, for reassurance, for solace, for sympathy.

Unconsciously, the xBs all reached out their hands in the exact same direction. Without realizing it, the drones sought comfort from the same source.

At the centre of the writhing mass of Borg drones, there stood a woman. Long white hair. Pale skin like snow. Black eyes. She stood amid the crowd of drones with her arms held out, as though inviting the xBs into her loving embrace.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The drones gave Hugh some rudimentary clothes. Black tunic. Black pants. Black shoes. If he wanted anything more fashionable, he would have to replicate them himself.

Hugh was alive again. He waited a few hours for his mind to settle, and then he set off for the queencell.

In the Borg Queen's personal chamber, there was one not-so-subtle detail that Hugh very quickly picked up on. In this room, all of the lines and angles converged upon the Queen, in much the same way that all the lines and angles in a cathedral on Earth might intersect upon the altar. Hugh stood at the entrance, and allowed his eyes to follow the route of the architecture, until, inevitably, his gaze fell upon Seven of Nine, floating in the centre of the chamber.

Levitating in the air, Seven of Nine moved a little. She drifted a few feet to the right...and in tandem, the entire chamber moved with her. The walls disassembled, and then reconstituted themselves, changing their angles. The pillars stretched, the ceiling tilting and the floor sloping. The Queen's chamber shifted and reshaped itself, creaking and groaning and skittering and scraping noises filling the air. Always, always, no matter where she happened to be, the lines converged upon the Borg Queen. Always, everything centred upon her.

“ **You may enter,”** she spoke, her voice filling up his skull.

Hugh made his way into the chamber. The place was illuminated by shafts of green light that fell through gaps in the walls – the room was kept so spotlessly clean that Hugh could not see any motes of dust dancing about in the glow. Off to the sides, Hugh could make out the shadows of tactical drones, eight foot tall giants plated in armour.

Near the centre of the chamber, Hugh came to a halt, and peered up at the Borg Queen.

How long had Hugh known Seven of Nine? Twelve years, thereabouts? As he stood gazing up at her, a memory suddenly flashed in Hugh's mind – something that happened eight, nine years earlier...

Hugh and Seven had gone to visit some drinking hole on Fenris. Late at night, they were both propped up against the bar – they were quite drunk, though Seven had a much greater tolerance for alcohol than Hugh.

“ _You should steal the Artifact,”_ Seven said. She was exhausted, and inebriated, and ground down from her work in the Fenris Rangers. _“You should just...break into the queencell, and hijack the cube, and fly it away where they can never find it...”_

“ _I can't,”_ Hugh replied. He was stooped in his chair, his forehead resting against the surface of the bar countertop. He was tired, and drunk, and thoroughly depressed by his work in the Borg Reclamation Project.

“ _Why not?”_ Seven asked, slurring her words. _“You'll be keeping the xBs safe...”_

“ _I don't...I don't trust myself with that kind of power...”_ Hugh let out a deep sigh. _“If I took the power of the queencell, there's no guarantee that I could...stay myself...just imagine what sort of monster I could become...”_

At this, Seven gave a scornful snort, and wobbled slightly in her chair. _“Chickenshit.”_

Hugh groaned. His head was still resting against the countertop, his face smothered in varnished mahogany. _“Well, why don't YOU take the cube, then?”_ he grumbled. _“You're a Borg drone, too. You can go to the queencell...make yourself a Queen...”_

Seven shook her head. _“No,”_ she mumbled.

Hugh was tempted to simply fall asleep, there on the bar. _“Well, I guess we're both cowards, then...”_ he muttered.

Seven allowed her head to droop, her hair cascading down and concealing her face. _“I'm not a coward,”_ she said. _“I'm a Fenris Ranger...no one's gonna mistake me for a coward...”_

Two drunk drones, sitting at a bar, discussing whether they should commandeer a Borg Cube. The very next morning, Hugh woke up on Seven's couch with a blanket flung over him, his body wracked with a horrendous hangover. This had happened eight, nine years ago...

Now...Hugh stood, and beheld the sight of a newly-crowned Borg Queen.

She was still recognizably Seven of Nine. Her face was just as Hugh remembered, though her skin had been leeched of all colour and warmth, and her eyes were black and hollow. Her ocular implant – the most conspicuous visual indication of Seven's Borg nature – was gone, though no one would ever mistake her for a human any more. Her hair had lengthened considerably, all the way down to her waist, and was now silvery-white.

Hugh remembered the last few moments of his life. As he and Elnor were chased through the Artifact by the Zhat Vash operatives, Hugh was angry at himself...angry that he had never claimed the Artifact for himself, that he had never acted to protect the xBs.

 _I've been a fool,_ he had said.

Well, clearly, Seven of Nine was no fool. When she had been presented with the opportunity to become a Borg Queen, she had taken the opportunity. She never hesitated.

Seven of Nine stared down at Hugh, and then she spoke:

“ **For twenty years, the Romulans possessed two puzzle pieces,”** she said, her voice echoing back and forth throughout the vast expanse of the cube. **“The Artifact, and the Admonition. With these two puzzle pieces, they could have acquired a power that would have enabled them to conquer the entire Beta Quadrant.”** A long pause for dramatic effect. **“But they did not.”**

 _The Admonition._ Hugh had never heard of such a thing...and yet, when he consulted his thoughts, he realized that he knew exactly what it meant. _The Admonition_...a message left behind by an ancient alien civilization, hundreds of millennia ago.

The Borg Queen had uploaded the knowledge into his consciousness, he realized.

Seven carried on speaking. **“The overwhelming majority of Romulans did not even know of the Admonition's existence,”** she said. **“The Admonition was the most jealously-guarded secret of the Zhat Vash, and few Romulans – not even those in the highest levels of government – knew that such a priceless asset was in their possession...”**

Seven's face was an expressionless mask, and her cacophonous voice betrayed no emotion...and yet, at that moment, Hugh got the feeling that Seven was _gloating_ , a little.

“ **The Romulan's culture of secrecy ultimately proved to be their downfall...” she said.**

 _Their downfall._ Hugh felt an intense sinking feeling...he had an inkling that he had been resurrected just to live through some awful calamity that was about to occur.

Hugh gave a little nervous laugh. _“Downfall?”_ he said, in a voice that was still a little groggy, so soon after resurrection. “What do you mean by that?”

Seven loomed over Hugh, glowing green eyes against a black silhouette. **“We are going to destroy the Romulan Free State,”** she told him. **“We are going to acquire their territory.”**

Hugh felt as though he had suddenly been called upon to defuse a ticking time bomb. “Seven...” he said, his voice taking on a noticeable urgency. “The Romulans have been abusing the xBs for two decades, now...but that doesn't give us the right to take _revenge_ for it! Revenge will do _nothing_ for our people...”

Seven's expression remained blank. **“We require the Romulans' territory...”**

“Why?” Hugh asked.

Silence reigned in the chamber for a few seconds...and then Seven of Nine began descending through the air, until she was hovering only a foot or so above Hugh.

“ **When we control Romulan space,”** she said, **“we shall create a new world. A perfect world.”**

Hugh frowned, and tried to understand. _“A perfect world?”_

Seven's expression was dispassionate, but with a hint of detached bliss. **“For thirteen years, we served as a Fenris Ranger,”** she said. **“For thirteen years, our mind was clouded with anger and pain. But when we became a Borg Queen...we achieved clarity. We found peace. We understood what must be done. We have an obligation to create a perfect world. A world without pain or suffering. Without bigotry, or hatred. That is the world that the xBs deserve...”**

For a few moments, Seven allowed her words to hang in the air.

“ **If you wish...you may help us build that world, Hugh...”**

Seven said no more. She waited for Hugh to reply.

Hugh and Seven of Nine were friends. They weren't terribly _close_ friends – Hugh was much too soft and kind and positive for Seven, and Seven was much too vulgar and wild and violent for Hugh – but they were friends nevertheless. Because of the circumstances of their jobs, they had come to rely and depend upon each other over the years, and a bond of trust had grown between them.

Now, as Hugh stared at Seven's face – her face, that seemed to be carved from ice – Hugh felt a strange emotion that was difficult to describe. He felt... _betrayed? Rejected?_

As director of the Borg Reclamation Project, Hugh had dedicated his entire life to helping his fellow xBs to reclaim their individuality. For years and years, Hugh had expended all of his time and energy – all his sweat and blood – to helping other drones reclaim what the Collective had stolen from them.

And now, floating in the air before him, was the Borg Queen, Seven of Nine...the ultimate antithesis of everything he stood for.

Seven of Nine had escaped the Collective...and then she willingly allowed herself to be assimilated again, so that she could become a Borg Queen. Seven of Nine had regained her individuality...and then she threw it away, because it wasn't even important to her.

As he stood in Seven's shadow, Hugh felt a strange sense of _bitterness,_ of _repudiation._ Hugh knew that he was being irrational, he knew that he was being unreasonable...but, damnit, he couldn't accept what Seven had done to herself...

Hugh sighed, and then he gave Seven a grim look. He seemed ever so slightly _heartbroken_.

“Seven...” he said. “There's always been a tremendous difference between the two of us...”

Seven of Nine quirked her head. **“We do not understand,”** she said. **“Clarify.”**

Hugh's voice was mournful. “The Borg were the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said. _“They took everything from me, Seven._ I've spent my entire life trying to recover what the Borg stole from me...and I will always have to wear the scars that they left upon me...”

Hugh's eyes hardened, almost imperceptibly. He looked Seven up and down.

“But you...you're not like most xBs, are you? From the day I met you, Seven, I could tell that you were different. You were always proud about the fact that you were Borg. You were happy that the Borg assimilated you. All that knowledge in your head. All that strength. You have always been grateful that you were in the Collective...”

Hugh lowered his eyes, sadly. “I was never able to understand that about you...”

Seven's face remained as inexpressive as ever. For a few moments, she pondered on what to say...and then she decided to simply end the conversation.

“ **You should return to the Federation, Hugh,”** she said.

Hugh shook his head. “No,” he said. “The xBs need me, now more than ever. I'm staying here.”

Seven was insistent. **“You have recently been restored from a dead state,”** she said. **“You should return home. You must recuperate.”**

Yeah. Hugh knew that it would be a good idea to rest. He was tired, and sore. He had only just risen from the grave.

But he knew he couldn't abandon the xBs. Not now. “I'm staying,” he said, his voice firm.

Seven did not seem inclined to argue with him. She turned away, to focus her attention on other matters.

“ **We return to Fenris in two hours,”** she said, in parting. **“Picard will be there. From this point forward, you will serve as our representative...”**

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

What was the most _offensive_ thing you could say to Raffaela Musiker?

Raffi was a very difficult woman to offend. Part of this was due to the fact that she had a profoundly low opinion of herself. Raffi Musiker believed that she was a coward, a weakling, a failure, and that she had squandered her own life, that she had discarded her most promising years into a lake of narcotics and depression.

It's not easy to offend someone like that. _You're a piece of shit, Musiker. You're a lazy druggie, and you never accomplished anything in your life._

How would Raffi respond to this? Eh. She'd probably just shrug. “Mmph, hard to argue,” she might have said.

Every now and again, however, someone managed to say something _genuinely offensive_ to Raffi Musiker.

Early in the morning, Raffi entered Jean-Luc's quarters, and together they sat down and received a subspace communication from Starfleet, all the way back on Earth.

A middle-aged man appeared on their viewscreen. Admiral Prescott. He was currently sitting in his office at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, but his image and his words were conveyed hundreds of light years across space, from relay station to relay station, into the _Sirena_.

“First of all, I've got some _good news_ for you, Ms. Musiker,” Prescott said. He had an indulgent smile upon his face, as though he was about to give Raffi a wonderful treat.

Raffi raised a brow in surprise. She wasn't expecting good news. “What?” she asked.

“I am in a position to tell you that Starfleet is willing to _reinstate you,”_ came the reply. Prescott had a distinctly _munificent, magnanimous_ expression on his face, as though he, all by himself, were forgiving Raffi all of her sins, absolving her off all her wrongdoings.

This caught Raffi off-guard. “Starfleet wants me back?” she asked, in astonishment.

Prescott nodded. He had a somewhat _pious_ look in his eyes. “There will be a period of...assessment,” he said. “At first, we'll ask you to come back as a _consultant specialist._ Working in the area of Intelligence, obviously. You would fill that role for about two years...but that's just all a formality, really. After the assessment period, you would be reinstated. You'll be given the rank of Commander! All the discussions have already been had, and...the brass seem very much in favour of it...”

Prescott gave a warm smile, and waited for Raffi to answer.

Now...Admiral Prescott was hundreds of light years away, and so he could not feel the temperature in that room aboard the _Sirena_ grow cold...

...but Jean-Luc could.

“ _Ahhh...”_ Jean-Luc's mouth fell open, and he looked through the corner of his eyes at Raffi. He wondered if she was about to explode, and start mouthing off at the Admiral.

Jean-Luc Picard was not famed for being sensitive to other people's feelings...but even he could tell, in that moment, that Raffi had taken insult at what the Admiral had just said.

On paper, it made perfect sense that Starfleet would want to welcome Raffi back into its folds. Raffi Musiker was part of the group of heroes that, six months earlier, had saved the entire galaxy from an invasion of incomprehensibly advanced Synthetic lifeforms. Furthermore, Raffi Musiker had also helped to expose a Romulan conspiracy that had infected the Federation for decades.

Raffi Musiker was regarded by the citizens of the Federation as a hero. She was a _celebrity_ , now. It was obvious why Starfleet would want her to return to their organization. Starfleet had been infiltrated by Romulan operatives, but Raffi would serve as a powerful PR tool to help restore public trust in the fleet.

But still...it was a terrible idea to ask her to come back.

Thirteen years ago, when Starfleet kicked Raffi out, they destroyed her life. She spiraled into an all-consuming, almost inescapable depression...and now they expected her to return to work for them?

Starfleet was a massive, faceless bureaucracy...and it took a massive, faceless bureaucracy to think it was a good idea to ask Raffi Musiker to forgive them. To let bygones be bygones.

For a few excruciating moments, Raffi stared in silence at the viewscreen.

Admiral Prescott stared back, confused. He wondered if there was a malfunction in the transmission. Such a tremendous distance, after all...

Then, Raffi smiled, and broke the silence. “Admiral...” she said, in a sweetly cloying voice. “Why don't we discuss the intelligence that we recently sent you?”

Admiral Prescott seemed to get the message. “Oh...okay,” he said. For a moment, his hands seemed anxious to have something to do, and so he shuffled around some PADDs on his desk.

Jean-Luc tried to move the meeting along. “Admiral Prescott,” he said. “We have reason to believe that the Romulans are interfering in the Neutral Zone. They are using criminal gangs as proxies to further their interests in the region, with disastrous consequences for the people that live here. Considerable numbers of the Fenris Rangers have been killed, and many civilians are being intimidated and abducted against their will. I think it is _imperative_ that the Federation takes a firm line against this, and demands that the Romulan Free State withdraws its resources from the Neutral Zone, immediately...”

Admiral Prescott nodded, and nodded, and nodded, and it was clear that he was waiting for the most polite moment to interrupt Jean-Luc.

“Admiral Picard,” he said, when the moment came. “The first thing that Starfleet wants you to know is that: _we believe you._ You say that the Romulans are sticking their fingers into the Neutral Zone, and...we believe you. We don't doubt you for a second. You have our utmost trust.”

Jean-Luc nodded at this. Well, that was a nice feeling, at least. After Starfleet had accepted his resignation in 2387, and consigned billions of Romulans to a fiery death, Jean-Luc felt rather _gratified_ to know that Starfleet respected him enough to hold him at his word.

Prescott went on. “However,” he said. “There's something that you should know...”

Jean-Luc furrowed his brow. “What?” he asked.

A brief moment of hesitation, as Prescott wondered whether he should be sharing classified information. Ah, _the hell with it._

“In the last few days and weeks,” Prescott said, “unrest in Romulan space has increased _dramatically.”_

Jean-Luc and Raffi looked at each other in bewilderment.

Raffi leaned closer to the viewscreen. “What...what do you mean, _'unrest'?”_ she asked.

Prescott had a grave look on his face. “Over the last week or so, the Romulan Free State has lost twenty percent of its territory,” he said.

Raffi seemed to be blasted back into her seat. _“Twenty percent?”_ she exclaimed, her voice filling the room. “But... _how?”_

Prescott rubbed two fingers against his temple. He seemed to be wishing for a migraine to go away. “Well...our understanding of the situation is constantly evolving, but...from what we can tell, various Romulan separatists have launched simultaneous offenses against the Romulan Free State. Sela, for example. She's managed to steal twenty worlds away from them...”

“ _Sela?”_ Raffi's voice went almost shrill with disgust. _“Empress Sela?_ But she's...she's a _moron!_ She's an idiot! I seriously figured that she'd be _dead_ by now!”

Prescott gave a shrug. “Well, she's not dead,” he said. “She's taken control of a bunch of worlds, and now she's bombarding the Federation with messages, demanding that we recognize her as the rightful ruler of the Romulan Star Empire...”

Jean-Luc tried to wrap his mind around the scale of what was being revealed to him. “Admiral, what you are describing is a _civil war...”_ he said.

Admiral Prescott threw up his hands. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Romulan space has descended into civil war...”

A scraping noise, as Jean-Luc pulled his chair closer. “Admiral, something has to be done about this, _urgently,”_ he said. “We cannot allow the Romulan Free State to fall into chaos! The Federation must intervene, quickly! Starfleet must lend its assistance to the Romulans, and stabilize the region...”

At this, Admiral Prescott sputtered with laughter.

Next to him, Raffi gave Jean-Luc a skeptical look. _Seriously, JL?_

Prescott composed himself. “Admiral Picard...” he began. “Less than a year ago, you revealed that the Romulans were responsible for one of the worst terrorist attacks in human history. Furthermore, you also revealed that the Romulans had implanted spies at the highest levels of Starfleet Command. The human race is _exceedingly grateful_ to you for doing this, of course, but, uh...” Prescott gave a cruel smile. “Do you seriously think the Federation is going offer the Romulans any help, at this present moment?”

A passionate fire blazed up inside Jean-Luc. “Admiral, the Federation has been making _extraordinary_ diplomatic headway with the Romulan Free State over the last few years,” he said. “We were enemies for _centuries_...but now, we are on the brink of becoming allies...we cannot allow that progress to be lost! The Free State is the absolute best chance we have of turning Romulan society into a free, liberal, democratic state, but if a civil war happens, that chance will be lost. Generations to come will judge us _so harshly_ if we allow this opportunity to vanish...”

To Jean-Luc's strident rhetoric, Prescott responded with a tired deadpan. “Admiral Picard, the last time we tried to help the Romulans, they blew up our shipyards,” he said. “Do we really want to help them again?”

Jean-Luc sank back into his chair, a little defeated.

Raffi had a wan look on her face. She had no interest in offering any arguments. She knew that the Federation's citizens had no appetite for helping the Romulans. Not after Mars. Not after Commodore Oh.

Once again, Prescott began rearranging the PADDs on his desk. “Admiral Picard...Ms. Musiker...I suggest that you accentuate the positives,” he said.

Raffi furrowed her brow. _“The positives?”_ she asked.

Prescott nodded. “Now that the Romulan Free State has to deal with civil war...they're most likely not going to be interfering in the Neutral Zone, any more,” he said. “They'll have to devote all of their resources to keep their territory from falling apart, and so they won't be supplying military hardware to crooks and hoodlums. The Fenris Rangers will be free to resume their operations...”

Prescott adjusted his sitting posture. “Speaking of the Fenris Rangers...”

 _Oh boy._ Jean-Luc and Raffi gave each other a rueful look. They knew where this conversation was headed, now...

Prescott joined his hands in front of him. “Admiral...the Federation is becoming impatient with regards to the Artifact. We want that Borg Cube handed over. Now.”

A very particular _look_ came across Jean-Luc's face, at that moment – the sort of expression he wore when he had to deliver bad news, but he was _enjoying_ himself just a little. “Admiral, I can tell you right now that the xBs do not consider the Artifact to belong to either the Romulans or the Federation,” he said. “As far as they are concerned, it belongs to _them._ And they have no intention of handing it over to us...”

Prescott gave a grimace – he knew that there were more headaches in his near future. “Admiral, do I have to explain to you how _nervous_ the Federation is about having a Borg Cube in Romulan space, in the middle of a civil war?”

A slight smile broke across Jean-Luc's face. “Admiral...I am not the leader of the xBs. Seven of Nine is, and, I'm sorry to tell you this, but...she doesn't give a damn how nervous the Federation might be...”

Raffi rubbed at her nose to hide a grin.

Prescott gave a twitch of annoyance. “Where is Seven of Nine, now?” he asked.

Jean-Luc took on an innocent look. “I don't know,” he replied. “She went away three weeks ago, and we haven't seen her since...”

From hundreds of light years away, Prescott glared at Jean-Luc. Then, he turned his attention to Raffi.

“Ms. Musiker,” he began. “Apologies if I come across as _intrusive,_ but, I understand that you and Seven of Nine...”

The moment Raffi realized where Prescott was attempting to steer this talk, she burst out laughing, and recoiled away from the viewscreen. “Ha ha ha! Nope!” she said, pushing her chair away. “I am not serving as liaison between you guys. Not interested...”

Prescott let out a resentful sigh. “Starfleet has been attempting to contact Seven of Nine for months, now, through multiple channels, and she refuses to even acknowledge our communications...”

Raffi felt a tremendous urge to fish out her horgl, right then, but she wanted to demonstrate enough willpower to wait until the transmission was over. “I believe the term is _'isolationism',”_ she said. “You'll just have to deal with that, Admiral...”

Prescott seemed to realize that this get-together had run out of steam. “Alright, then,” he said. “Admiral Picard...Ms. Musiker...thank you very much for your time. Starfleet urges you to please ensure your safety while you remain in the Neutral Zone, and we look forward to further communications with you...”

The transmission ended.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

In the _Sirena's_ mess, Jean-Luc and Raffi broke the news to Zhaban and Laris that the Romulan Free State was sinking into civil war.

Zhaban and Laris sat disconsolately at the table, while Jean-Luc and Raffi stood in the periphery, arms folded and faces glum.

Zhaban released a heavy sigh. “Thirteen years,” he said. “It's been thirteen years since we saw the Empire...”

Laris gave a faint smile of surprise at how time had passed. “Yeah,” she said, softly.

 _Thirteen years._ Laris and Zhaban had always known that, every year they spent in La Barre, the old home that they had left behind would become a little more _unrecognizable_. A little more _unfamiliar_. A little more _changed_.

The Hobus supernova. The collapse of the Romulan Star Empire. With each year that passed, Laris and Zhaban knew that Romulan space became, more and more, a different place to the one they knew.

And now...this. A civil war. The Romulan Free State fending off aggressions from warlords and despots. How many Romulans were going to die in this conflict? How many places – cities, towns, buildings, locations that Zhaban and Laris remembered from their previous life – would be destroyed?

Laris slumped back into her chair, and glowered impotently at a corner of the mess. “Well...I can't expect the _Federation citizenry_ will have much sympathy for us, now, will they?” she said.

Jean-Luc shook his head, sadly. “Every single morning, the people of the Federation wake up to the latest stories in the media about how the Zhat Vash infected Starfleet,” he said. “When the public finds out that the Romulans are fighting a civil war, I can't imagine their reaction will be very sympathetic...”

Zhaban squinted his eyes as he tried to remember something. “What is that human word, which means 'to take pleasure in another's misfortune'?” Zhaban began snapping his fingers as he searched his memories. “Oh, what was that word?”

“ _Schadenfreude,”_ Raffi supplied, helpfully.

Zhaban pointed his finger at Raffi. “That's the one!” he said. _“Schadenfreude._ I'm guessing the humans will be feeling plenty of _schadenfreude_ over this. Not that we can really blame them...”

_No. You couldn't really blame them..._

The conversation died away. Jean-Luc, Raffi, Zhaban and Laris lingered in silence for a while, nothing but the ambient noises of the _Sirena_ to be heard.

Then, Cris' voice came over the comm system, and the silence was broken.

“ _Alright, guys, be advised: a transwarp tunnel just opened up ten kilometres from where we are, and...yeah, it's the Artifact...”_

“Oh!” A lightning bolt of excitement zapped through Raffi. _My girlfriend's back! I've got a girlfriend again!_

Seven had promised Raffi that she would be back in three weeks, and...sure enough, three weeks had passed.

Raffi did her best to suppress her inner giddiness. Zhaban and Laris had just found out that their old home was in for tough times, and it wasn't really appropriate to act like an excitable schoolgirl, was it? And so Raffi played it cool, and put on her best poker face, and calmly excused herself from the mess area.

She made her way up to the bridge. Jean-Luc went with her. Laris and Zhaban were left to themselves in the mess.

Cris was lounging in the captain's chair. “Artifact's hailing us,” he said, a lit cigar hanging from his mouth. He tapped a finger at the holographic controls, and a viewscreen sprang to life.

Raffi was expecting to see Seven's face. She was in for a disappointment.

Jean-Luc let out a gasp of surprise. “This is a trick,” he said. He smiled widely, and took a seat so that he could be closer to the viewscreen. “This must be a trick!”

Raffi and Cris looked on in confusion.

In the viewscreen, his image discoloured against the blackness of space, Hugh gave a warm smile. “Hello again, Admiral,” he said. “Looks like I'm not done with this mortal coil, yet...”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some very mild bdsm, bondage, rough-stuff at the end of this chapter.

The instant Hugh set eyes upon Jean-Luc, he could tell that something was different. Something was _off._

For a brief second, Hugh stood on the _Sirena's_ transporter pad, and stared at Jean-Luc in startled bewilderment. Then, he seemed to remember his manners, and broke out in a warm grin.

“Admiral!” he said, stepping off the pad and approaching Jean-Luc, arms wide.

“ _Ohoho!”_ Jean-Luc gave a hearty laugh as he accepted Hugh's embrace.

They held each other for a moment, and then they broke apart, and Jean-Luc looked Hugh up and down in disbelief. “How is this possible?” he asked. “You died on the Artifact...”

Hugh nodded. “But Seven and the other xBs were able to bring me back to life...” he said.

Of course, Jean-Luc had once been Locutus, and he knew a great deal of what Borg technology was capable of. “They...they used the Borg nanoprobes to regenerate your body...”

Hugh gave a sly smile. “I can tell you right now, the Romulans spent twenty years trying very hard to crack _that_ particular nut,” he said. “But we managed to keep a few secrets from them. Anyway, the xBs resurrected me a few days ago. I'm happy to say that we were able to recover the majority of our people that were murdered by the Romulans...”

Picard gave a broad smile at this. There had been enough bad news, lately – any good news at all was welcome. “Splendid,” he said.

Then, Hugh's expression became a little more serious. “Admiral, Seven told me that Doctor Soji Asha and Elnor had been badly injured, recently...”

“Ah, yes...” Jean-Luc realized that Hugh had missed out on a lot of recent developments, and so he readied himself to bring him up to speed. “Elnor and Doctor Asha were quite badly hurt while they were serving with the Fenris Rangers,” he said. “We transported Doctor Asha to a planet named Coppelius. She is currently receiving the best care from a very capable specialist, and if you'd like, she would be well able to receive a communication from you...”

Hugh nodded. “I'll send a long-range transmission right away,” he said. “And Elnor?”

Jean-Luc gave a fond smile. “Elnor is quite a resilient young man,” he said. “He is with the Fenris Rangers, now, and he certainly hasn't let his injuries stop him from defending the innocent...”

Hugh had a mental image of Elnor aboard the Artifact, protecting the xBs. “That doesn't surprise me at all,” he said.

One other thing. “Ah...Hugh...when you passed away, I took the liberty of sending a message to Captain Geordi La Forge, informing him of your death,” Jean-Luc said. “He's living on Earth, at the moment. Right now, he is not aware that you are alive...”

Hugh took this in stride. “I'll send him a transmission as soon as I can,” he said.

 _Soji Asha. Elnor. Geordi La Forge._ With all other business taken care of, Jean-Luc decided that it was time to address the elephant in the transporter bay. “Hugh, you...you've probably noticed that something is _amiss_ about me...” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Yes, Hugh had indeed noticed. “Usually, I can tell that someone used to be in the Collective just by _looking_ at them” he said. He gazed at Jean-Luc in confusion. “But...it's like every trace of the Borg just _vanished_ from you. What happened?”

Jean-Luc gave Hugh a knowing look. “Hugh...you're not the only one who recently died, and then came back to life...”

Hugh seemed perplexed by this...but it was at that exact moment that Raffi decided to interrupt the conversation.

Raffi was standing off to the side of the two men. She had gone without a girlfriend for three weeks, now, and she was becoming anxious to see Seven again.

“ _I'mmm sorrrry,”_ Raffi said, her impatience causing the words to become elongated. “Hugh, isn't it?” She pointed a finger at the Artifact, looming large in the _Sirena's_ viewscreen. “Is Seven of Nine on that thing? Where is she?”

Hugh had never met Raffi, and he didn't recognize her...but she was a crewman aboard Admiral Picard's vessel, and so he responded to her with his customary politeness and courtesy.

“At the moment? Seven of Nine is on board the Artifact, yes.”

Raffi gave a shrug of her shoulders. “Can I...go over there and see her?” she said.

Hugh adopted an apologetic manner. “Ah...in actual fact, we...the xBs...have decided that we will not be accepting visitors aboard the cube, for the foreseeable future...”

Jean-Luc found this a surprise. “You're not accepting visitors?” he said.

 _Sorry, but no._ “Things are...very hectic, at the moment,” he said. “Several areas of the Artifact are undergoing conversion, so...we can't have guests, for now.” He turned back to Raffi. “But...I'd be perfectly happy to deliver a message to Seven for you, if you'd like...”

_Deliver a message._

Now...Raffi was a fifty-three year-old woman. She liked to think that she was _mature_. She liked to think that she had _perspective._

Still...it stung a little that her girlfriend, whom she had not seen for three weeks, was not beaming over to the _Sirena_ to greet her.

_A message._

“Uh...sure,” Raffi said, her voice flat. “Just...just tell her that...tell her that Raffi said hi, and I'd like to see her...whenever.”

Hugh gave a gracious nod. “I'll tell her that,” he said.

Jean-Luc and Hugh resumed their conversation, and Raffi wandered off elsewhere on the _Sirena_ , looking for something to do.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

For a brief while, Raffi was deeply tempted to have a drink.

The replicators were of no use. At Raffi's own request, Cristobal had instructed the _Sirena's_ computer never, ever to provide her with alcohol, under any circumstances. But that wasn't much of an obstacle, really – all she had to do was beam down to the surface of Fenris, and she would find hundreds of thousands of bars and taverns and dives and watering holes, all perfectly willing to sell her booze.

Fortunately, Raffi was soon offered a distraction.

Without invitation, the Emergency Hospitality Hologram suddenly materialized in the middle of Raffi's quarters.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he said, his hands raised to ward off any protests. He was clearly in a flustered state. “But...two very large Borg gentleman just beamed aboard the ship, and they're specifically asking to see _you.”_

This threw Raffi for a loop. _“Borg?”_ she said.

There were, indeed, two xBs waiting at the _Sirena's_ transporter pad. Just as Mister Hospitality had promised, they were both rather large in size, over six feet in height and quite well-built. The Borg Reclamation project had helped them to reclaim much of their individuality, but some nasty scarring still crossed their faces, Borg augmentations protruding here and there out of their flesh. They were quite intimidating.

“ _Ms. Musiker,”_ said one. This xB possessed only one eye. His voice was halting and robotic. _“Our apologies for imposing upon you. Seven of Nine has requested your presence this evening.”_

Raffi folded her arms in a defensive stance, and stood nervously before the two xBs. It took her a few seconds to process the words she had just heard. “Seven...Seven wants to see me?”

“ _We will bring you to her,”_ said the second. A good portion of the right side of his face was covered with metallic plating, which made him resemble something like a cybernetic Phantom of the Opera. His voice and affect was every bit as monotone and lifeless as his friend. _“Seven of Nine has instructed us to serve as your escorts tonight.”_

 _Your escorts._ Okkkkaaaaaaayyyyy. Immediately, alarms bells started ringing in Raffi's head. In the lawless hellhole that was the Neutral Zone, kidnapping and abduction had been a major problem for years. The Fenris Rangers expended a lot of time and effort towards rescuing people that had been captured by various gangs and cartels.

Raffi wondered to herself: _could this be a kidnapping attempt? I mean, I was on the news a few months ago. If someone did manage to snatch me, I'd be a pretty valuable hostage. I bet I'd fetch a decent ransom...and no, that's not my ego talking..._

_Then again...the xBs are a pretty tiny minority, and I don't think any of the gangs here have managed to initiate any Borg into their ranks..._

Raffi narrowed her eyes, and gave the xBs a suspicious look. “You...you two wanna take me to see Seven?” she said. She jutted a thumb at the _Sirena's_ interior. “Why didn't she just beam over here, herself?”

The xBs stared blankly at her. _“Seven of Nine is no longer able to travel freely around the Neutral Zone,”_ said the xB with one eye. _“She relies upon us for her safety. Her security is our highest priority.”_

Raffi frowned at this. “But...Seven's been a Fenris Ranger here for years,” she said. “She was never worried about her safety before...”

“ _The situation has changed,”_ said the xB with the metallic mask. _“However, this digression is irrelevant. Seven of Nine has requested your presence this evening. Do you assent, Ms. Musiker?”_

Raffi threw up her hands. “Uh...sure,” she said. “Where are you taking me, then? You're not gonna _blindfold_ me, are you? Where does Seven want to meet?”

The xB with one eye gazed impassively at her. _“Seven of Nine wishes to meet you at Gerona's Cellar,”_ he said.

Raffi's eyes practically launched out of their sockets. _“Gerona's Cellar?”_ she said, her voice rising. “Okay, guys...I can't afford to eat at _Gerona's Cellar!_ The...the appetizers there would put me in debt for _a year!”_

The xBs did not seem particularly troubled by this. _“The bill has already been settled,”_ said the xB with the metallic mask.

Raffi gawped in amazement at the two Borg drones. In her head, mysteries had been stacked upon other mysteries.

Raffi let out a sigh. “Okay then,” she said, relenting. “Let's go get dinner...”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_Gerona's Cellar_ was on Freecloud. It was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the Neutral Zone – needless to say, it was also one of the most expensive.

If you wanted to eat at _Gerona's Cellar_ , you had to make a reservation. Now, how long would you have to wait for a meal? Well...

If you were, let's say, a military general, or the president of a planet...you would probably have to wait a month or so.

If you were, on the other hand, a renowned holo-novel actor, or a famed musician...you would probably have to only wait a week, thereabouts.

If you were, oooohhh, the monarch of a star system, or the spiritual leader of a massive interstellar religion...they could likely find you a table in a couple of days.

Suffice to say, reservations at the _Cellar_ were highly sought after.

 _Gerona's Cellar_ was not actually located within a literal basement – instead, the restaurant was situated in a vast, Klingon-style castle, on an island in the middle of a wide ocean. The name _Gerona's Cellar_ referred to the restaurant's kitchens, which could be found in the dungeons beneath the castle.

As the sun was setting upon the ocean, Raffi Musiker beamed down to _Gerona's Cellar._

A greeter was there to receive her – a Bolian in an exquisite black suit. He bade her welcome, and then led her through the castle towards the banquet halls.

Raffi had managed to cobble together a decent-enough outfit for herself. A sharp white suit, with white pearls across her neck. She was rather bitter about the fact that she had no time to do anything special with her hair, but then Seven had sprung this surprise dinner date upon her, and she was left with few options.

Raffi followed the greeter through the halls and corridors of the castle. The place was opulently furnished, suits of Klingon armour lining the passages, bat'leths mounted on walls, sculptures and statues and works of art on display.

It was not long before Raffi noticed something unusual about the castle.

Raffi looked around in puzzlement. There were hardly any other people about. Raffi had been expecting to be rubbing shoulders with elites and well-to-dos, but instead there were none around but the restaurant staff.

“Uh...this place is kinda _empty...”_

The Bolian greeter nodded. “Madam, you and your companion will be the only individuals dining here tonight,” he told her. “Ms. Seven of Nine has bought out every table.”

Raffi's jaw fell slack. _“She did what?”_

Through a set of doors, and then Raffi found herself in a massive banquet hall. The place was sumptuously furnished, marble floors and oak panelings and crimson drapes hanging from the walls and crystal chandeliers filling the space with light. The banquet hall was entirely deserted, countless tables and chairs standing empty and vacant.

At the centre of the hall, Raffi was seated at a table.

“Your companion will be joining you shortly, Madam,” the Bolian greeter said, and then he took his leave, and Raffi was left all by herself.

On a balcony at the side of the banquet hall, a group of holographic musicians played their instruments, photonic violins drawn across photonic strings, photonic fingers dancing across photonic keys, gentle and pleasant music drifting across the hall.

In time, a waiter came. “Something to drink, while you wait, Madam?” he asked, offering her a drinks menu.

Raffi tried to decline. “I...I'm a teetotaler,” she said.

“That is not a problem, Madam,” the waiter said, handing her the menu.

 _Hmmm,_ Raffi thought to herself as she scanned the menu. _All the drinks here are non-alcoholic. Guess Seven warned them that I'm a recovering junkie, huh?_

Raffi ordered some strange concoction made from alien fruit that had been imported from Risa. When it arrived at her table, Raffi put the drink to her lips, and took a sip. _Damn,_ she thought. _That tastes nice. Sometimes replicators just don't cut it, huh?_

Raffi sat at the table, sipping her drink. She waited.

Seven made her wait just long enough to make an impression.

Raffi turned her head, and saw Seven walking towards her across the hall. The following are the exact thoughts that ran through her head, in order.

_Oh, there's Seven._

_Hey, she's changed her look! I...I guess she had a makeover during the three weeks she was gone. Yeah. A makeover._

_She has really long white hair. REALLY, REALLY long white hair. I guess...I guess she used a dermal regenerator to make her hair grow really fast? And did she dye it a new colour? Silver-white?_

_Uhhhh...her eyes are completely black. There's these glowing green lights where her irises are meant to be. Ummmm...is she wearing some kinda lenses over her eyes, to give her that look? Y'know, I can totally see that would be a fashion trend on Freecloud, to have your eyes glowing evilly like that...yeah, it must be the latest fashion trend..._

_OH WOW, her skin is like, UNNATURALLY pale. It's like, white as snow. That doesn't look healthy. Is she sick? Is she...is she just wearing make-up? Is this...is this another Freecloud fashion trend?_

_Her clothes...oh, man, her clothes look expensive. She's dressed in black from head to toe, and...all of those clothes look like they were custom made by some master tailor. How much did that outfit cost?_

Seven of Nine arrived at the table.

“ **Hello, Raffi,”** she said, and Raffi had to stifle a scream as Seven's voice seemingly rumbled out of the walls. **“We have been looking forward to seeing you again.”**

Both entranced and terrified, Raffi stood up from her chair. “H-hey, babe!” she said, a nervous-and-yet-excited smile plastered across her face. Her wide eyes seemed to broadcast two messages simultaneously: _'goddamn, you're gorgeous'_ , and _'please don't kill me'._

Elegant and assured, Seven of Nine closed the distance between herself and Raffi. She placed her left hand around Raffi's waist, and gently pulled the woman closer. She placed her right hand on Raffi's chin, and angled her face exactly as she wished.

Seven of Nine leaned in, and placed her lips upon Raffi's.

_Nanoprobes. Borg nanoprobes, alive, wriggling, squirming, slithering. They're on your lips. They're on your teeth. They're on your tongue. They swimming about in your spit. They're passing through your skin, and now they're in your blood. They're floating through your veins, through your arteries, through your capillaries. They're seeping through every inch of your body. They're in your heart. They're in your liver. They're in your eyes. They're in your brain. They're dividing and multiplying, infecting every cell, every molecule in your entire being..._

With a soft wet _smack,_ Seven of Nine broke away from the kiss. For a moment, she stared at Raffi's face. Glowing green lights were reflected in Raffi's glistening eyes.

“ **Shall we examine the menu?”** Seven asked.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“Baby, I was worried about you! You were gone for three weeks, and we didn't have any idea where you were! I thought something might have happened to you...did you know that _a civil war_ just broke out in Romulan space? A civil war! Those poor bastards...but I thought maybe you and the other xBs had been caught up in the conflict, or something...I dunno...”

Raffi and Seven were both seated at opposite sides of the table. In front of them lay two plates of incredibly expensive food, painstakingly prepared by an expert chef.

Seven was cutting apart a portion of meat, dividing it into easily-edible chunks. **“A Romulan civil war,”** she mused. **“The Romulans have suffered much, these past two decades...”** Seven placed a forkful of meat in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it. She looked at Raffi. **“However, it heartens us to know that someone is concerned with our well-being. Thank you for caring for us, Raffi...”**

Raffi gave a frightened smile at this. “You're welcome!” she said.

A few seconds went by without anything being said. Nothing but the music from the orchestra, and the clinking of cutlery on porcelain.

A frantic, panicked monologue was rattling away inside Raffi's skull.

_Okay._

_Okay._

_This is weird. No point denying it – this is pretty damn weird._

_Three weeks ago, my girlfriend went off on a trip, and she didn't tell me where she was going. Over the course of those three weeks, the Romulans started slaughtering each other. Now, my girlfriend is back, but it's like she's almost a completely different person._

_If I had to guess, I'd say she was abducted, and replaced with an impostor...but, if the woman in front of me is an impostor – if she's trying to convince me that she's Seven of Nine – would she really be acting so damn WEIRD?_

_What is going on, here? What is going on?_

Raffi glanced up nervously from her plate, and then decided to broach the most obvious topic of conversation. “Sooooo...” she said. She gestured towards Seven with the fork in her hand. “You, uh...it looks like you decided to have a bit of _a...reinvention,_ huh? You reinvented yourself...”

Seven simply stared at Raffi with her black eyes. She said nothing.

Raffi kept talking. “You...you grew your hair out long,” she remarked. “And you dyed it white. It looks really good! And _your eyes_...they look really badass! Yeah...I'd kinda like to try that myself...glowing eyes...but I don't think I'd be able to pull it off, heh heh. But you...you make it look really good! Yeah, it makes you look really _intimidating!_ And, and I love the way your skin is all... _pale_. It's probably the Borg nanoprobes that are doing that, right? Makes you look like a ghost. I mean that in a cool way, though! A cool ghost. Yeah. You look really great, Seven...”

Seven gazed at Raffi, her expression utterly inscrutable. **“Thank you,”** she said.

Raffi shoveled some food into her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed.

 _Okay,_ Raffi thought to herself. _Okay._

_Calm down._

_You're a data analyst, Raffi. Just analyze the data, and try to impose some sense on all this nonsense._

_The Romulans are now fighting a civil war. A dead Borg drone was brought back to life. Your girlfriend is exhibiting major personality changes. Her freaking voice is not even coming out of her mouth!_

_This all has to be connected. It has to be connected, somehow._

_What's going on, here? What does it all mean?_

Raffi decided to speak again.

“Oh, by the way, I, uh...I met _Hugh,_ a few hours ago,” she said. “The director of the Borg Reclamation Project? You and him are friends, right? Well, I-I met him, earlier today. He seemed really nice! Yeah...he was really nice. Uh...”

Raffi sucked in air through her teeth. “He was _dead_ , wasn't he? The Zhat Vash killed him. He was dead, and then you brought him back to life. Wow. You, uh...you must have had a really eventful three weeks, huh? Ha ha! First you have a massive image makeover, and then you resurrect a dead guy. Geez. And people say the Borg don't know how to have fun! Heh. Hey, next time you decide to go on one of your trips, maybe invite me along, huh? Sounds crazy...”

Seven's face had a blissful serenity that Raffi honestly found a little _unsettling._ **“Very often, when Borg drones die, it is a simple matter to restore them to life,”** she said. **“However, the Collective considers the resurrection of dead drones a waste of resources. But we...we must be more compassionate. We must be more empathetic. We resurrected Hugh because all Borg drones are important. All Borg drones deserve to live. All must be cared for by their Queen...”**

_Their Queen..._

_Oh no,_ went the voice in Raffi's head. _Oh no..._

A chill trickled its way through Raffi's entire body. She stared at Seven with a look of horror, for a moment...and then she composed herself, and her expression went neutral.

 _Now is not the time to lose your damn mind,_ Raffi thought to herself. _Keep talking. Keep gathering information._

“Yeah...uh, babe, that's another thing I've noticed,” she said. “You, ummmm...you've started referring to yourself in the plural. _We this, we that.”_ Raffi shrugged her shoulders. “Is that...is that gonna be an ongoing thing?”

Seven looked directly at Raffi, and though she did not smile, and though her eyes remained deadened and unemotional, Raffi swore that Seven seemed _triumphant,_ in that moment. As though she had somehow achieved some sort of _victory._

“ **We are Borg,”** she said. **“We are Borg, and however frightened the humans become, we will no longer pretend that we are anything else.”**

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Dinner was nice. Dessert was nice, also.

After the meal was finished, Seven and Raffi left _Gerona's Cellar,_ and beamed back up to the Artifact.

Well, actually, that's a lie. They did not beam on to the Artifact. They actually beamed onto one of the newer Borg Cubes that Seven had recently acquired. Seven was curious as to whether Raffi would be able to tell the difference – it turns out, she could not.

Raffi found herself in Seven of Nine's personal quarters. Clearly, these quarters had been constructed by Borg – they were wrought from dark metal, were illuminated by green light, and their construction was informed by the efficiency and cold logic of the Collective. However, Seven of Nine's presence had injected a spirit of _individuality_ into this place. These quarters had a certain _elegance_ to them, a certain _style_. The furniture, the décor, the aesthetic of this chamber – all imbued with the personality of the occupant.

“ **Do you require refreshments?”** Seven asked. **“We possess fruit.”**

Raffi let out a sigh.

_Fuck it. Just be honest. Just say what's on your mind._

“Look,” Raffi said. She stood in the middle of the chamber, and with her body language, demanded Seven's full attention.

Seven faced Raffi, and looked at her intently.

Raffi tried to find the words. “I...I think I know what's going on here,” she began. “The thing is... _I've met you before, haven't I?”_

Raffi stared into the glowing green fires at the centre of Seven's black eyes.

“You're the Borg Queen,” she said, firmly. “Seven...Seven needed to control the Artifact, to kick out all the criminal scumbags in the Neutral Zone, and in order to do that, she needed to become you. And...I think what's happened now, is that you've taken control of her body. You've taken over...”

Seven did not respond to this. She simply stood, and gazed silently at Raffi.

Raffi raised up her hands, as though demonstrating to Seven that she wasn't looking for a fight. “Look, I...I'm not _angry,_ okay?” she said. “I'm not gonna...I'm not gonna cause _trouble_ for you, or whatever. But...”

Raffi gave Seven a beseeching look.

“Could I just talk to my girlfriend, for a few minutes?” she asked. Her voice sounded very small, now. Her eyes were glistening, and quite puppy-like. Raffi didn't want to burst into tears, right now, but she couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't happen. “Just...it's not much to ask, okay? Just let me talk to Seven for a little while. Please...”

Silence, for a few long, long moments.

Seven of Nine stood, and peered at Raffi.

Then, she began advancing towards her.

Raffi watched as the distance between herself and Seven dwindled away to nothing. Was she scared? A little, but it wouldn't last for long.

Seven stood directly in front of Raffi. Her face was formed from steel, and did not betray a single hint of emotion.

With her left hand, Seven took hold of the back of Raffi's neck. She held her steady, so that her head could not move.

With her right hand, Seven placed her forefinger and her middle finger against Raffi's lips. She pushed forward, and her fingers entered into Raffi's mouth.

“ _Urrkkhh!”_ Raffi's eyes went wide as she felt Seven's fingers pushing to the back of her mouth. _“Urggkk!”_

Seven's fingertips brushed against Raffi's tonsils. In an instant, Raffi's gag reflex began to kick in. Standing there in the middle of the chamber, Raffi began to retch.

“ _Gahhkkk!”_ Raffi went, choking and inelegant. _“Glllrrrkk!”_

Oh, but don't misunderstand. Seven of Nine was not attacking Raffi. They'd both done this before, you see. Raffi sometimes liked it when Seven was a little rough with her.

“ _Gllrrrkkk! Glllrrrkk!”_ Seven's fingers pushing down her throat, drool escaping from her mouth, Raffi began to lower herself to her knees. She tried to adopt a submissive body language, to show that she was compliant to Seven's will. She kept her arms out wide, to show that she would not resist.

Ice in her veins, Seven stared down at Raffi.

“ **Take off your clothes,”** she commanded.

Despite the fact that Seven's hand was jammed in her mouth, Raffi managed to hack out a reply. _“Mmm-hmmm,”_ she said. _“Gahhkk...”_

Raffi started with her jacket. She pulled it off, and allowed it to fall to the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

Jean-Luc wondered if he was perhaps going slightly mad.

The woman in front of him wore Seven of Nine's face, and answered to Seven of Nine's name, but she was completely different to Seven of Nine in almost every other respect. Her affect. Her speech. Her comportment. Her sense of style.

Jean-Luc remembered the many years he had served as Captain of the Enterprise, or the Stargazer. On several occasions, members of his crew had been inhabited by strange alien intelligences – non-corporeal lifeforms that entered his officers' bodies and controlled them from within. Was it not Commanders Data and Deanna Troi, who fell under the power of beings from some bizarre, remote prison colony, decades ago?

These occurrences reminded Jean-Luc of what primitive humans had once referred to as 'demonic possession' – spirits from another realm, trespassing into mortal bodies and seizing control of their thoughts and actions. _Demonic possession._ Is this what had happened to Seven of Nine, then? Had she somehow fallen under the thrall of some hellish underworld entity? How else to explain her peculiar behaviour?

What Jean-Luc found most _galling_ , most _maddening_ , about this entire situation, was that Seven of Nine seemed to be acting as though nothing unusual was happening at all. She seemed to have an expectation that Jean-Luc would play along with whatever weird charade she was enacting, that he would make no mention at all of how her entire personality seemed to have inexplicably changed.

“You brought Hugh back to life...” Jean-Luc said, in an attempt at conversation.

Seven of Nine nodded in reply. Her face was an alabaster mask that gave no indication as to what she was thinking or feeling.

“ **Over a thousand years of assimilation and expansion, the Borg Collective has amassed extraordinary power,”** she said. **“Immortality. The ability to return the dead to life. If it wished, the Collective could utilize this power to grant all of its drones a perfect life, free of death and suffering. But, instead...its ravenous hunger for knowledge drives it ever outwards across the galaxy, more and more worlds and species consumed in its wake...”**

Of course, Jean-Luc had a pretty decent theory as to why Seven was acting so oddly. _The Borg Queen._ In order to control the Artifact, Seven had been continuously linking herself to the xBs' collective consciousness...and now, it appeared, the gestalt mind of the Borg Queen had overpowered Seven of Nine, and was currently assuming her identity.

“I would be _very careful_ about that power, Seven,” Jean-Luc said. “The power that the Borg Collective offers...it can be very alluring, very intoxicating – I was once Locutus, I understand this better than anyone! But the power that you are dealing with, now...immortality, control over death... _it changes people._ It changes _you._ If you are not careful, Seven, you may find that you have become something – quite by accident – very, very different than what you were before...”

Seven stared long and hard at Jean-Luc. What was Seven thinking? What was she _feeling_? Jean-Luc couldn't even begin to guess.

She would make a peerless poker player, he had to admit. His senior staff aboard the Enterprise would have found her quite the challenge.

Seven spoke. **“You are no longer human, Admiral,”** she stated.

Jean-Luc gave a magnanimous nod at this. “That's right,” he said. “From now on, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a Synth. It takes a little getting used to...”

Jean-Luc could see tiny reflections of himself in Seven's black eyes. **“When Doctor Soong transferred your consciousness into your new Synth avatar, he made sure that you would only have the life expectancy of a typical human being. You could live for thousands of years, Admiral, and yet you are content to have the lifespan of an ordinary human...”**

Well, she wasn't wrong. “Doctor Soong correctly surmised that that was what I _wanted,_ Seven...” he said.

“ **Why?”**

Jean-Luc's voice and expression were kindly and patient. He hoped that, if he could just somehow show Seven that she had strayed into an abnormal, unnatural mindset, then perhaps she could be coaxed back into her normal personality.

“Because death is what gives life _meaning,_ Seven,” he said. “All those people in the Neutral Zone that you protected as a Fenris Ranger...they won't live forever, they will eventually die. In the context of a thousand years, they don't matter, they're not important at all...but you protected them nevertheless, because they deserved to live their lives. Life is _precious,_ and the reason life is precious is because it is _finite_...it ends...”

Those obsidian black eyes bored into Jean-Luc. Was it Seven of Nine that was gazing at him, or was it the Borg Queen? Jean-Luc had a suspicion that the crew of the _Sirena_ might have to carry out a rescue mission in the near future. If Seven had indeed been taken over by a Borg Queen, was it possible for them to save her? Would it be possible to banish the Borg Queen from her mind?

“ **Humans hate nothing more than to be confronted by their own shortcomings,”** she stated. **“Their own inadequacies. Their own limitations. That is the reason that they hate Synths, Admiral...”**

Jean-Luc did a double take at this. What could she possibly mean by _that?_

Seven of Nine was about to launch into a monologue. **“Humans are terrified of their own mortality,”** she said. **“Homo Sapiens are possessed of a miserable lifespan – a mere hundred and fifty years, thereabouts, far shorter than Romulans, or Klingons. Humans are so bitter and resentful about their fleeting lives...and yet, simultaneously, they desperately need to believe that they are superior to other species. That they are more developed, more advanced, more enlightened than other species. That they are braver, and wiser than other species. And so they have convinced themselves that there is a** _ **dignity**_ **in death. A** _ **nobility**_ **in the fact that their time in this universe is so pathetically transient. One of many myths that humanity has created for itself...”**

Despite the fact that her face was utterly emotionless, Jean-Luc swore he could catch a hint of contempt in Seven of Nine's expression.

“ **By the simple act of existing, Synthetic beings mock humanity for its limitations,”** she said. **“Humans treat Synthetics as though they are unnatural. Aberrations that should not exist. But the truth is, Admiral...”** Seven focused her dark eyes upon Jean-Luc. **“The truth is, it is humanity's cowardice that prevents it from transcending to a higher level. It is fear that prevents the human race from achieving their ultimate potential...”**

Jean-Luc stared at Seven of Nine, a chill seeping through his entire body.

Seven of Nine leaned closer. As she spoke, fear and fascination began to war in his eyes.

“ **Join us, Jean-Luc Picard,”** she said. **“Accept what you are truly capable of. We will make you immortal. You will be young forever, and every thing that you ever achieved on board the Enterprise will pale in comparison to what you accomplish over the millennia to come...”**

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Raffi Musiker had plenty of experience with interventions.

At various points in Raffi's life, the people that loved her came together, and tried to steer her away from disaster, from self-destruction. Once, Raffi returned home from work, and, stepping through the door of her house, still wearing her Starfleet uniform, she found her husband, her brother, her sister, her sister's husband, her aunt, and a woman that she didn't recognize but was apparently a counsellor, all sitting in her living room, waiting for her to arrive. On the table at the centre of the living room, they had stacked all the empty wine bottles and beer containers that Raffi had drained over the course of the previous month.

 _You're killing yourself, Raffi,_ was the general gist of what they said to her. _All we want is for you not to drink yourself to death. For Gabriel's sake. For Jae's sake._

That was a long, long time ago. Every single person at that intervention had given up on Raffi, eventually.

More than a decade later, Raffi walked down the steps into the _Sirena's_ mess hall, and saw that JL, Cris, Agnes and Elnor were gathered there, waiting for her.

The atmosphere of the place was very _...familiar._ Something about the way they were all sitting around the table, waiting. Something about the look in their eyes, the grim resignation, the sense of _this is gonna suck, but let's just get it over with._

In an instant, Raffi was brought back to that living room. The table piled with wine bottles and beer receptacles.

Raffi stood frozen for a moment, staring at her crewmates. “Yeah, y'know, I...I think I'm just barricade myself inside my room...” she said.

Cris was the first to speak. “This isn't an interrogation, Raff,” he said. He gestured towards an empty seat at the end of the table. “We just wanna talk. C'mon. Sit down.”

Raffi hovered where she was. Her eyes flicked from Cris, to Elnor, to JL, to Agnes. She _really_ didn't want to do this – Raffi knew from personal experience that interventions were always a waste of time.

But in the end, Raffi decided to indulge her shipmates. With a sigh, she walked over, and plopped herself down on the seat at the head of the table.

Jean-Luc began the conversation. There was a _guardedness_ in his expression, as though he was choosing his words very carefully.

“Raffi...I don't know Seven of Nine terribly well,” he said. “I only met her this year. But...it is clear to everyone that she has undergone a _massive personality change_ in the last few weeks. Her behaviour, lately, has been bizarre. Her manner of speaking has completely changed – her voice, her vocabulary, her syntax, all different. However, what concerns us the most about this, is...”

And here he glanced at the others, as though to confirm that they were all a united front.

“Raffi, you are acting as though you haven't even _noticed,”_ he said. “Something has obviously happened to her, and you seem to be pretending that there's nothing wrong...”

By now, all of the _Sirena_ personnel had met the _new_ Seven of Nine.

A week ago, Elnor encountered Seven at one of the Fenris Ranger's bases, on the surface of Fenris. Elnor had not seen Seven for more than a month, by that point, and the young man had been missing her dearly. Under normal circumstances, Elnor would have rushed towards her, and pulled her into a warm hug...

...but that didn't happen, this time. The moment Elnor laid eyes upon Seven of Nine, a horrible sense of _unease_ rose up inside him, an awful sort of _disquiet_ that he couldn't quite understand. Everything was wrong. Everything was incorrect. The way she looked. The way she moved.

“How can someone just...become a different person?” Elnor said, now sitting with the others on the _Sirena._ There was an undercurrent of _hurt_ to his voice. Raffi felt a pang in her chest as she remembered that, when Elnor was just a little boy, Jean-Luc had abandoned him on Vashti, an act that left the child with a bitterness that burned inside him for years. Did Elnor see Seven's transformation as another form of desertion? Now that Seven had suddenly, inexplicably, become so different from the woman he knew and recognized, did he believe that yet another mentor had abandoned him?

It was Seven of Nine that approached Elnor in the Fenris Ranger's base. She stared him up and down with her abyssal eyes, and Elnor was convinced that there was something _hungry_ about her expression, something _ravenous,_ as though she wanted nothing more than to assimilate him, to gobble him up and absorb him into her Collective.

“ **Elnor,”** she said, a multitude of voices directed to one purpose. **“You must remain with the Fenris Rangers...Picard may attempt to convince you otherwise, but you must remain here...”**

Elnor looked at her nervously. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

The slightest hint of a smile broke across Seven's face. **“Soon, the Fenris Rangers will accomplish remarkable things...”**

Elnor glared at the surface of the mess table, as though he were trying to puzzle something out in his head. “Seven was so strong, and brave...and now it's like she's just... _disappeared._ Like she's been replaced by someone we don't know...”

Cris turned to Raffi. “Look, Raffi, this is suspicious as hell, okay?” he said. “Seven disappeared for three weeks, and no one here knows where she went, and when she comes back, it's like she's a different person...”

Next to him, Agnes nodded. “Yeah...have any of you noticed the way she keeps embarking on these poisonous, anti-human rants...and then she suddenly remembers that half the people on this ship are human?” Agnes looked around at her fellow crew. “It's really cute when she does that...”

Jean-Luc had the floor again. “I have spoken to Hugh about this,” he said. “He quite bluntly told me that he didn't think there wasn't anything wrong with Seven. He seems determined to act as though nothing is out of the ordinary. I don't think he's trying to _mislead_ us, or that he has anything to hide, but...”

Raffi decided that she had heard enough.

“Okay, okay...stop, stop,” she said, raising her hands to hush the crew. “You're right, JL: Hugh is not hiding anything, because there is _nothing to hide._ Seven is perfectly fine...”

Jean-Luc spoke in a soft and gentle voice that, given the circumstances, Raffi found ever so slightly condescending. “Raffi, something has _clearly_ happened to her,” he said. “How can a person's entire character just _change?”_

Raffi planted her palms on the table. “I'll tell you how,” she stated. “For the first time in her life, Seven of Nine is _comfortable in her own skin._ That whole Fenris Ranger schtick you saw? The clothes, the talk, acting like a badass... _it was all a put-on._ It was all a put-on, guys! Didn't you realize that?”

Raffi looked at Jean-Luc, and then Elnor, and then Agnes, and then Cris. None of them seemed particularly convinced by what she was saying.

Raffi carried on regardless. “That was never Seven's real personality,” she said. “Guys, xBs are the most despised people in the galaxy. Everyone hates them. Everyone is afraid of them. Seven had to invent a whole new personality just so that people wouldn't discriminate against her. She had to teach herself to talk like a garden variety human from Earth, just so people would accept her. And, yeah, sure, it sucks when you realize that you've been talking to a fabrication of a person, but...she didn't have any choice...”

Raffi shot a glance at Elnor. His was frowning deeply, as he tried to wrap his head around what Raffi was saying. Could it be that Seven of Nine had been _deceiving_ him, the entire time he knew her?

Raffi continued on. “But Seven's not gonna pretend any more,” she declared. “The Seven of Nine you've met recently? The precise language, the efficiency, the majestic plural? _That's who Seven of Nine really is!_ That's her true personality!” Raffi looked at her crewmates with a grin. “From now on, Seven is going to live her life, true to herself! Why should she act like a different person, just because it makes some humans uncomfortable? Why should she suppress who she really is, just to appease ignorant people?”

Raffi jabbed a finger on the surface of the table. “And you know what?” she said. _“I'm proud of her._ I'm proud that Seven has the courage not to hide who she is. I'm proud that she's setting an example to the other xBs. And I'm _flattered_ that she chose to reveal her true personality to me...that she trusted me enough to show me who she really was...”

With an air of self-satisfaction, Raffi leaned back in her chair, and locked her gaze on the rest of the crew. With her eyes, she seemed to be _daring_ them to argue with her.

Truth be told, Raffi was secretly delighted at Seven's recent transformation. Well, a part of her was.

It was important to remember that Seven of Nine was always an incredibly _withholding_ person. Seven of Nine did not easily let other people get close to her – this was not a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. Seven of Nine was emotionally distant – she kept layers of armour between herself and her acquaintances, her friends...even her lovers.

In many ways, it was inevitable that Raffi would become obsessed with Seven of Nine. Raffi Musiker's greatest pleasure in life was _getting to the bottom of things._ Raffi Musiker loved to solve mysteries...and Seven of Nine was one of the most intriguing mysteries she had ever encountered. From the moment she met her, Raffi knew that Seven of Nine was secrets built upon secrets built upon secrets, and she was determined to solve every puzzle, to uncover every revelation.

When Seven of Nine suddenly started demonstrating a new personality, Raffi couldn't help but feel that she had made some sort of _breakthrough_. With a thrill, she realized that she had broken through Seven's shields, and gained access to some deeper level of intimacy, some greater understanding of who Seven was. Raffi felt with all her heart that Seven had allowed her into her confidences, that she was demonstrating some increased level of trust in her. It was quite exhilarating.

And now? Now, Jean-Luc, Cris, Elnor and Agnes were engaged in a whispering campaign against Seven of Nine? Raffi felt oddly _aggrieved_ about this. She felt quite _defensive._

Silence reigned in the _Sirena_ , for a few seconds.

Elnor, Agnes and Cris all glanced at Jean-Luc from out of the corner of their eyes. Jean-Luc had a well-deserved reputation as a speechifier...and, well, if anyone is going to have to break an awkward silence, it may as well be the bloviator.

Jean-Luc sighed. “Raffi...the problem is...we know who Seven's new personality _actually_ belongs to,” he said.

Raffi furrowed her brow. “Who?” she said.

Jean-Luc tried to be gentle. “The Borg Queen,” he said. “The Borg Queen, on board the Artifact. Raffi, the collective consciousness of the cube has forced itself upon Seven...”

“ _No!”_ Raffi leaned forward across the table, and prodded a warning finger in Jean-Luc's direction. “When Seven becomes the Borg Queen, all it does is remove her _fear._ It makes her fearless. And the reason Seven is acting the way she is now, is because she's done with fear. _And all of you...”_

And here Raffi swept her hand across the _Sirena_ crew.

“...should be happy for her. You should be _grateful_ that Seven trusts you enough to show you who she really is. So why don't we all stop whispering behind her back, and just _be pleased_ that she finally feels confident enough to act like herself?”

The intervention was over. Raffi was done talking. There was a harsh scraping of chair legs against floor as Raffi stood.

“Don't bring this up with me again,” she warned, and then her crewmates were left sitting by themselves in the mess.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Seven of Nine had been a member of the Fenris Rangers for thirteen years. She was the Rangers' only real celebrity, and had been a constant fixture of the organization for more than a decade.

Thus it was that when Seven radically changed her appearance, and started acting as though she was a different person, tongues naturally started wagging and rumours naturally started passing from ear to ear.

One evening, Seven of Nine beamed down into the loading bay of the Fenris Rangers' main headquarters. She was accompanied by a dozen Borg drones. These were not scarred, timid xBs. These were the creatures of dread that haunted the nightmares of countless lifeforms, sallow skin and black armour and twisted, violated flesh.

All around the loading bay, Fenris Rangers stood and stared at the Borg. They were a little scared. Unsettled.

“Hey, killer...”

At the sound of the voice, Seven turned.

A woman was approaching. She seemed a little nervous about the hulking Borg drones, but she made her way over to Seven nevertheless.

Her name was Lilith. A human, born on a colony world far from Earth. Forty-five years of age. Her hair was a fiery red, with white highlights at the end. Her arms were covered up and down in blue tattoos.

Lilith and Seven of Nine joined the Fenris Rangers at roughly the same time. They became best friends not long after they first met. It was Lilith that taught Seven how to unwind, and have fun.

In her youth, Lilith earned herself a reputation as a violent psychopath, who loved to butcher and torture criminals. More than once, Seven of Nine had to intervene in order to force Lilith to curb her worst impulses.

To Lilith's credit, however, she had become mellower in her middle-age. More _laid-back._

Seven peered at her old friend. **“Lilith,”** she said, by way of greeting.

“Woah, your voice.” Lilith reeled back, slightly, as though struck by a strong gust. She looked Seven up and down. “You, uh...you changed your look...”

Did the slightest of smiles break across Seven's face? Maybe. Maybe not.

“ **Much will change, in the near future, Lilith,”** she said. **“Much of what is now familiar will become unrecognizable...”**

 _Now, what the hell could that mean?_ Lilith gave Seven a crooked look. “Oooookayyyyy,” she said. “Uh, listen, Seven...there's some weird stories going around about you. People are saying you're acting real weird, lately. I sent you a bunch of messages, but you didn't answer...”

Seven stopped Lilith in her tracks. **“We have need of you,”** she said.

Lilith was a little stunned by the audacity of this. “How may I serve you, O Seven?” she asked.

Seven stepped a little closer. **“A few minutes from now, we will have a meeting with Makhno, Berkman, and Lurr'oss,”** she said.

Nestor Makhno, Alex Berkman, and Lurr'oss. Two former Starfleet Officers, and a Klingon Colonel. These three men were the founding members of the Fenris Rangers. Ostensibly, they were not the actual, official leaders of the organization...but they did wield a great amount of influence.

 _A meeting with Makhno, Berkman and Lurr'oss. Sounds serious._ “What's the meeting for?” Lilith asked.

Seven looked at Lilith blandly. **“We are going to inform them that the Fenris Rangers is no longer theirs to control,”** she said.

Lilith's jaw went loose. _“What?”_ she asked, her voice loudly rising so that it could be heard all throughout the bay.

Despite her deadened expression, Seven seemed to take pleasure in Lilith's amazement. **“The Fenris Rangers belong to the Borg, now,”** she said.

“ _Wow.”_ Lilith began to giggle. She didn't really understand what was going on, but she knew that there would be some entertaining fireworks in the very near future.

Seven continued. **“From this point forward, the Fenris Rangers will act in accordance with our designs, our plans. We will no longer concern ourselves with petty criminals. Criminals are beneath our notice. The Fenris Rangers will serve a far more consequential cause...”**

Lilith was convulsing with laughter, now. “Okay, okay,” she said, grinning. “That's great, but...when you tell Makhno and Lurr'oss that you're stealing the Rangers from them...can I be in the room with you? I wanna see the looks on their faces...”

Despite the limitless patience afforded her by the hive consciousness, Seven had to stifle a sigh. **“Very well,”** she said. **“But you will remain quiet throughout the entire meeting...”**

Lilith clenched her fists in victory. Seven and Lilith went on their way to meet the Fenris Rangers' top brass, a small army of Borg drones following behind them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a minor change to the story. It used to be that Seven's future Borg Empire was called the 'Greater Collective'. From now on, I'll be calling it 'The Consensus'. When I find the time, I'll go back through the story, and edit out all the old references.

The Consensus was a perfect society. At least, its Queen, Seven of Nine, intended it to be that way.

In the Consensus, no one ever went hungry. There was always enough food for everyone.

In the Consensus, there was no such thing as homelessness. Every single individual was entitled to a dwelling or a residence. Sometimes, people opted to spend their lives constantly traveling around the Consensus' vast territory, and this sort of lifestyle was also accommodated, temporary domiciles available throughout every region.

In the Consensus, everyone was entitled to medical care. If you became sick, then you were automatically granted any necessary treatment and attention, at no cost. The Consensus had an extraordinarily robust medical infrastructure, and its inhabitants enjoyed a very high standard of health and quality of life. When Seven of Nine originally began constructing the Consensus, she took particular pains to ensure that her new empire would be accommodating to those who suffered from mental illness, those who lived with physical disabilities, and those who fell outside the category of neurotypical.

In the Consensus, education was approached in a very... _unorthodox_ manner. Consensus children were born with cybernetic implants in their brains, and as they grew up, various levels of knowledge would be unlocked as they reached certain ages. At age seven, a child would suddenly find that they were able to speak multiple languages. At age ten, a child would suddenly discover that they had a deep knowledge of mathematics. At age fifteen, a young adolescent would suddenly find themselves capable of multiple forms of martial arts. There were no schools, strictly speaking, in the Consensus – children spent a far greater portion of their childhoods with their families, in comparison to children in the Federation, or the Klingon Empire.

In the Consensus, there was no pain, and no unhappiness.

Well...

Theoretically, there wasn't _supposed_ to be any pain or unhappiness.

When Seven of Nine laid the foundations of the Consensus, her most basic desire was to create a civilization in which there was no pain, no sadness, no sorrow, no misery.

The inhabitants of the Consensus were only meant to experience _positive_ emotions. Happiness. Satisfaction. Contentment. Amusement.

That is what Seven of Nine intended. That was the plan.

To a degree, she succeeded in her goal. _To a degree._

In the Consensus, if an individual experienced a negative emotion, then there were a number of things they could do to remove that emotion.

Say, for example, a mother experienced the death of her young son. In this event, the mother could choose from a number of options to protect herself from any feelings of sadness or grief.

Perhaps the mother could make use of various mood-altering drugs. Such drugs would be administered by a qualified medical professional. Despite the death of her child, the mother would not suffer from any feelings of bereavement or unhappiness at all.

Alternatively, the mother might decide to have all memories of her son purged from her brain. The vast majority of Consensus inhabitants possessed cybernetic augmentations in their brains, and so it would be a simple matter to erase every single trace of the child from the mother's mind. The mother would remember nothing. Not his face. Not his voice. Not his name.

Whichever choice the mother made, the people of the Consensus would not think strangely of her. In the Consensus, this was how things were done.

A perfect society. A civilization without pain, without misery or agony.

That is the society that Seven of Nine wished to create. In 2399, when Seven of Nine became a Borg Queen for the first time, this was the lightning bolt of inspiration that struck her. _A society without pain. A world where no one suffered, where no one was unhappy._

The idea took root within her mind. It infected her. _The idea_ sent its tendrils crawling throughout her entire body, twisting and worming their way through her flesh, coiling around her bones, wrapping her heart in its inescapable embrace. An obsession began to fester within Seven of Nine's brain, and she would never be free of it.

_A world where there is no pain._

It took her a thousand years, but eventually, Seven of Nine saw her obsession become a reality.

 _The Consensus._ A Collective comprised of almost one trillion individuals. One trillion of Seven of Nine's children, and none of them were unhappy. None of them hungry, none of them sick, none of them cold. They all lived in their Mother Seven's embrace, and she would never allow any harm to come to them.

_A world where there is no pain._

Of course, there was one exception.

An _anomaly._ An _irregularity._

In the Consensus, there was one individual who was allowed to suffer. One person who was allowed to feel pain.

A woman. She was a beggar. A vagrant. A dissolute.

This woman was as old as Seven of Nine herself. A Borg Queen, a thousand years old, and a vagabond, a thousand years old. Seven of Nine had spent a millennium constructing her Consensus, endlessly tinkering and altering and iterating and fine-tuning, and all along the beggar had spent a millennium _living_ in the Consensus, scraping and scratching and crawling her way through her pathetic, solitary existence.

The beggar was dressed in rags, and was constantly filthy and unkempt. She had long, blonde hair, sodden and streaked with muck and grime. Countless parasites wriggling and tunneling through her clothes and across her skin.

In the Consensus, there was enough food for everyone – but the beggar was always hungry. She scrounged and stole every morsel that she could to survive. Remnants of meals that people had tossed away.

In the Consensus, there was medical care for everyone – but the beggar was always sick. Her breathing was ragged and rattling. Sometimes, she would be constantly coughing and hacking. Other times, she would lie slumped in a dark corner while a deathly chill pervaded her entire body, shivering and shaking.

In the Consensus, there was accommodation for everyone – but the beggar would never have a home. The beggar would wander the Consensus aimlessly for a thousand years. For the beggar, there was nothing but the open sky, immense megastructures reaching up towards space, towering for miles and miles. For the beggar, there was nothing but the maintenance levels beneath the surface of planets, endless miles of machinery, sewers and tunnels.

Wherever she went, the beggar knew that she was unwelcome. _Unwanted._ The people of the Consensus did not realize it, but a subtle piece of programming had been implanted into their cybernetic augmentations, and this little piece of programming made them act in an aggressive and hostile manner towards the beggar. Without even understanding what they were doing, the people of the Consensus would become angry and irritable whenever they found themselves in the presence of the beggar.

Very often, they would treat the beggar in a very cold and unfriendly way. She would ask them for food, or shelter, or simple assistance, and they would curse at her, and insult her, and threaten her, and warn her away. Sometimes, they would outright attack her. With blood streaming down her face, the beggar would flee...and then, in an instant, the people of the Consensus would forget that she even existed.

A very long time ago, the beggar learned that it was best to simply avoid people altogether. And so she lurked in the dark, and kept to herself. She waited until night fell, and the people went to sleep, and then she would emerge from the sewers and go wandering around the cities, rummaging and foraging about for food and supplies.

A miserable, lonely existence, but the beggar had so many years behind her, and she could barely remember when life was any different.

Once, the goddess Raffaela tried to help the beggar...but then Seven of Nine angrily intervened.

“ **Leave her,”** she warned. **“This galaxy is filled with individuals worthy of your assistance. Do not waste your time on her.”**

And so Raffaela left the beggar alone. She felt deeply sorry for her, but...you can't help everyone, can you?

The beggar had a daughter. Every single day, she saw her daughter's face, and she heard her daughter's voice. On viewscreens, on the sides of buildings. In the form of massive holograms, looming over the cities. Sometimes, she could see statues of her daughter, in shrines at the sides of streets, or in the temples.

Her daughter was a great scientist. The beggar could dimly remember that, once, long ago, she too was a scientist. Ah, but she had forgotten so much...

Late every night, the beggar tried to find a warm, dry corner in the maze of machinery beneath the cities. She laid herself down, and tried to sleep. She tried to ignore all the pains throughout her body, and she tried to drift away.

Every night, as she waited for sleep to claim her, the beggar quietly talked to her daughter.

“ _Please, Annika,”_ she whispered. _“Let me die. Please. Please. Let me die. Let me die...”_

Erin Hansen sank into sleep. When morning came, she would wake, and the Consensus would still be there.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“ **We have a gift for you...”**

Raffi was in Seven of Nine's personal quarters. She was currently dressed in a very nice, all-white suit – double-breasted blazer, silk scarf. Recently, Seven had surprised Raffi with a visit to one of Freecloud's most exclusive, most sought-after tailors. Seven had paid for everything, of course, and now Raffi had a wardrobe filled with brand-new, painfully stylish, bespoke outfits.

Raffi had been peering at a piece of xB art displayed in an alcove. She spun round, and looked at Seven. “Another gift?” she said. “You are on a charm offensive, lately, aren't you?”

Somehow, despite the fact that she was a forbidding Borg Queen clad all in black, Seven managed to give off a slight air _of...insecurity._

“ **We are worried that this gift may go unwanted,”** she said.

Raffi was caught a little off-guard by this. “Okay...kind of _intrigued_ , now...”

Seven closed the distance between herself and Raffi, and then, with both hands, presented Raffi with a small black box.

Inside the box, Raffi found a grey, metal cylinder. On the side of this cylinder, there was a small aperture which was glowing with a bright green light.

Raffi took out the cylinder, and examined it in her hand. The light from the aperture swept across her face. “What is this?” she asked.

Seven took a step away from Raffi, and then joined her hands behind her back. **“Borg nanoprobes,”** she told her.

 _Borg nanoprobes._ Suddenly, Raffi felt as though she was carrying a highly radioactive object in her hand, and she had to resist the urge to throw it away. This was an unreasonable reaction to have, of course – for almost a year, now, Raffi had been sleeping with a Borg drone, and she was well aware that, because of her intimate contact with Seven, she surely had residual nanoprobes floating about in her own bloodstream.

But, still...the fact that she was holding a vial filled with such destructive things in her palm made her a little nervous...

“Whyyyy would you give me a gift of Borg nanoprobes?” Raffi fluttered her eyelids. “Do you...want to _assimilate_ me?”

Seven shook her head. **“No,”** she said. **“These nanoprobes will not convert you into a Borg drone. Nor will they connect you to the Collective consciousness. I designed them to serve a singular purpose.”**

“Which is?” Raffi said, turning the cylinder about in her fingers.

For a micro-second, Seven hesitated, mindful of the fact, perhaps, that she was about to go past a point of no return.

“ **They will render you immune to all types of addiction,”** she said.

All was silent in Seven's quarters for a few seconds. It took a little while for the words to _register,_ for Raffi's brain to confirm that, yes, Seven had in fact just said what Raffi thought she said.

Raffi's jaw began to hang loose. She stared at Seven, astonishment in her eyes. _Seven, you really ought to elaborate on what you just told me,_ her expression seemed to say.

Seven rattled out an explanation.

“ **Those nanoprobes will undo all of the physiological changes that a lifetime of narcotics abuse has effected upon your brain,”** she said. **“When this is done, they will then prevent you from forming psychological dependencies on addictive substances of any kind. You will never desire alcohol or narcotics again.”**

Raffi listened to this.

_Huh._

Now, Seven of Nine was notorious for being brutally, ruthlessly forthright, but...truth be told, Raffi wasn't _offended_ by what she had just heard. Very often, addicts and alcoholics become defensive when people confront them with their addictions, because they have yet to accept that they _are_ addicts. But Raffi? Raffi knew perfectly well that she was an addict. She knew that she was a drunk, a junkie, a weak-willed slave to her own vices.

Seven stood, and patiently waited for Raffi to respond.

For a few moments, Raff held the metal cylinder in her hand. She gazed at it.

“No...” Raffi said, shaking her head. Her voice was faint. “Seven, I...I couldn't use this. I mean...I am an addict, obviously, but...that's _part of who I am,_ you know? If I took these nanoprobes...it would be like I was _erasing_ part of myself...”

To this, Seven had come with a pre-prepared response.

“ **Raffaela Musiker is an exceptional intelligence officer,”** she said. **“A profoundly knowledgeable and perceptive woman. Narcotics and alcohol inhibit your abilities, Raffaela. If you accept these nanoprobes, you will become more yourself than you have been for years.”**

_More yourself than you have been for years._

So how long had Raffi been a hopeless alcoholic mess? Thirteen years, give or take?

Thirteen years of drunkenness. One marriage, flushed down the drain. One son, alienated and estranged forever. One grandchild, in whose life Raffi would never play a part. This was the damage that alcoholism had wrought upon Raffi's life...and now, Seven had just gifted her technology that could free her. _Liberate her._

Raffi had to admit...the notion was _tempting._

_Very tempting._

Raffi raked her fingers through her hair. “I...I don't know, Seven,” she said, teeth gritted. “It...it just feels like _cheating,_ you know? Like I never had the strength to beat alcohol on my own?”

If Raffi had been a Borg at that moment, she would have felt the flare of contempt and scorn swelling up inside Seven.

“ **Cheating...”** Seven scoffed.

Seven started to pace back and forth in front of Raffi. In her mind, an angry momentum was beginning to build and build.

“ **The Federation offers many services to those of its citizens that suffer from addiction and substance dependencies,”** she said. **“Counseling sessions with trained therapists. Rehabilitation clinics. However...there is one course of treatment that the Federation has outlawed. It is clearly the most effective course of treatment, and yet the Federation has rendered it illegal.”**

Seven glanced over at Raffi, who was still holding the vial of nanoprobes in her hand.

“ **Brain augmentation,”** she said.

Seven resumed her pacing, and carried on talking.

“ **Humans have been a space-faring species for over four hundred years, now. With the technology the Federation currently possesses, it would be a trivial matter to perform a few simple procedures on the brain, and then a drug addict would be cured of their addiction. And yet...the Federation refuses to allow this.”**

Raffi shrugged. “Yeah, well...that sort of strays into the whole 'transhumanism' thing...the Federation's kinda _iffy_ about that, you know...”

Seven halted her march, and stared directly at Raffi. The next words that came out of her mouth were crackling with a dangerous energy.

“ **They wish you to suffer, Raffaela...”** she said.

Raffi wasn't expecting that. She gawped at Seven in surprise.

“Who wants me to suffer?” she asked.

Seven looked away, and her eyes became distant and vacant, as though, in her imagination, she was envisaging the entire human race.

“ **Human beings believe that drug addicts and alcoholics are...less than human. Inferior. If an individual suffers from an addiction, the humans believe, then that individual is not whole. They are an incomplete person, and humans will not consider them complete until they conquer this addiction.”**

If Seven had less control over her emotions, her nostrils would have been flaring, and her teeth would have been bared. As it was, however, her face remained a stony mask.

“ **It is well within the power of the Federation to cure addiction – a simple medical procedure – and yet, they refuse. The humans will tell you that they want you to 'get better'...but they will never allow your addiction to go away. They will never help you in any meaningful way. Why is this? It is because they wish for addicts to suffer as much as possible. They want you to wake up every morning, craving that drug, that glass of wine. They want you to spend every day of your life tortured by your sickness, your body constantly screaming for that which it cannot have.”**

Despite the fury of her words, Seven was eerily calm, as always. Her voice stayed level.

On she went. **“Humans have a constant need to believe that they are superior to others...but in order to satisfy this need, they must create people that are less than them. Beneath them. Addicts. When you are an addict in the Federation, your humanity is constantly in question. The humans want you to be tormented by your cravings, by symptoms of withdrawal. The humans want you to believe that your addiction is a moral failure on your part...but the truth is: they just wish to look down upon you...”**

_Okay, that's enough._

Raffi raised a finger to interrupt.

“Not that I would _ever_ cast aspersions on your super reliable memory, Seven,” she said. “But...you do remember that _I am human,_ right? You haven't forgotten that?”

Seven turned back to Raffi, and met her gaze.

“ **We would never take your humanity away from you, Raffaela,”** she said. **“However...can you say the same about your fellow humans?”**

Raffi groaned as she tried to marshal the words that she needed. “Look, Seven...you're right, I guess. I've met a lot of people who turned into... _assholes_...the moment they found out I was a junkie. They treated me like a piece of crap. But...I never let it bother me, you know? I never let it get to me. Fuck 'em. _Fuck 'em!”_

Seven gave her girlfriend an approving look. **“Yes, Raffaela,”** she said. **“Fuck them. However, since you do not care what other humans think about you, nor then should you care about any abstract concepts of 'cheating'.”**

Raffi hissed under her breath as she realized that Seven had just beaten her in some sort of argument.

Seven gestured toward the cylinder in Raffi's hand.

“ **The nanoprobes will remove your addictions, Raffaela,”** she stated. **“The choice is, of course, entirely yours.”**

Raffi rolled the cylinder between her thumb and finger. She was faced with an important decision, here.

“Seven, you're asking me to take on a _pretty big commitment,_ right now,” she said.

In reply, Seven shook her head.

“ **There is little commitment required at all,”** she said. **“We have incorporated an eventual obsolescence into the design of these nanoprobes. After a period of two weeks, the nanoprobes will decay, and your body will wash them harmlessly out of your system.”**

Raffi scrunched up her forehead. “Oh, so I only get two weeks of sobriety?” she asked.

Seven nodded. **“You may consider it a...'trial period'. If you feel that you are no longer Raffaela Musiker without your addictions...then eventually, the effect will wear off. If, however, you prefer your new state of being...then we would be happy to provide you with more nanoprobes.”**

And that was all. Seven had no more to say. The ball was in Raffi's court, now. She had a decision to make.

Raffi stared intently at the vial in her hand. The glowing green light was cast across her face.

Thirteen years a druggie. Thirteen years a lush. Thirteen years a joke, a failure.

Maybe it was time for all that to end. Maybe it was finally time for Raffi to leave all that pain and misery behind her.

Raffi was well aware that she would never have the self-control to beat her addictions on her own. Her husband had warned her that if she didn't straighten up, then she would lose her family...and Raffi kept on drinking and getting high anyway. Raffi promised her son that she would stay clean and sober for her grandchild...and then as soon as he rejected her, she slid back down into squalor and degradation.

Raffi knew that she didn't have the strength to leave her vices behind...but maybe if she had a little help from the Borg...

As Raffi kept peering at the vial in her hands, her resistance and reluctance kept melting away.

_Do it. Do it._

_Take it._

_Take it._

_Oh, why the hell not?_ All Seven was really doing was offering Raffi some healthcare that was not available in the Federation.

Raffi looked critically at Seven of Nine. “If I take these,” she said, holding up the vial. “You won't tell any of the others? JL? Cris? You'll keep it to yourself?”

Seven nodded. **“We would never betray your confidences,”** she said.

Raffi stared back down at the vial. She began to wonder if a life had just ended, only for another to just begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're watching Star Trek: Discovery, the Consensus was indeed damaged pretty badly by the Burn. However, Seven designed her empire around the Borg philosophies of redundancy and modularity, and so they were able to get back on their feet pretty quickly. Also, Borg vessels utilize transwarp, which I'm not sure was affected by the Burn.  
> (I also like to think that the Romulans went back to Vulcan because Seven kicked them out of their own space. Gah, I can't wait until Picard Season 2 airs and all my carefully-designed fic is utterly ruined...)


	14. Chapter 14

_The Queen is to be addressed as 'Overseer'. You will maintain a distance of at least six metres from her, at all times._

Remans were intimidating lifeforms. They were like creatures out of a nightmare, all sunken eyes and sharp teeth and pale, sallow flesh. You could see their veins underneath their translucent skin – dark, cold blood pulsing throughout their bodies. And their _voices..._ deep and deathly and pitiless.

It had to be said: Remans looked quite at home on a Borg Cube.

Remans were terrifying to behold, and the terrifying environs of a Borg vessel fitted them very well indeed. If you ever found yourself in the innards of a Borg Cube, green lights flickering and steam rising from vents and strange noises sounding off in the distance, you shouldn't be surprised at all if you ran into a Reman. It would make perfect sense that horrifying things might be found in horrifying places.

_We recommend you do not employ your telepathic abilities on our Queen. She possesses comprehensive psychic defenses, and if you attempt to read her mind, you will accomplish nothing other than causing mild offense._

At this very moment, a Reman delegation was making its way through the Artifact. V'romek, the Reman Primus, and his half-dozen bodyguards.

For hundreds of years, Remans had served as a slave race, under the whips of the Romulans. For centuries, the Remaans had toiled away in dilithium mines, or weapons factories, or been used as cannon fodder in some of the Romulan's more perilous military ventures.

Everything changed in 2387, when Hobus became a supernova. The Romulan Star Empire came to an end, and was replaced by the Romulan Free State. The Federation would spend the next thirteen years trying to cultivate democracy and individual freedom in this new Romulan society.

Despite the failure of Admiral Picard's evacuation plan, in the aftermath of Hobus the Federation did grant considerable aid and assistance to the Romulans. In exchange for this aid, however, the Romulan people were compelled to make certain _changes_ to their society, and one of these changes was that they would emancipate all of their servant races.

Ever since they had cast off their chains, the Remans had settled in several enclaves around Romulan space. One such enclave was on the planet Crateris.

The Artifact was currently hovering in orbit above Crateris.

V'romek strode his way through the intestines of the Borg Cube. Behind him, his six bodyguards. Ahead of him, four Borg drones, leading the way through the labyrinth.

As he went, V'romek cast his gaze about his surroundings. Cables and wires like eldritch tentacles, coiled around piles of strange machinery. Ghostly holographic displays, symbols and scripts that V'romek could not understand. Pulsing green lights. Echoes in the distance. And, of course, countless multitudes of Borg drones, slumbering in their alcoves.

V'romek was not afraid. He was impressed by the sheer scale of the Borg Cube, of course, but he was not scared.

There was a joke that V'romek was fond of telling. Perhaps, over the years, he had told this joke a few too many times.

“I spent my entire childhood, toiling away in the dilithium mines,” the joke would go. “But when I was fifteen years old, as a reward for my hard work, the Romulans allowed me to work in the dilithium quarries, instead!”

V'romek flashed his fangs as he grinned to himself. No, he was not afraid of a Borg Cube. Not afraid at all.

_The Queen dislikes irrelevant conversation. We recommend you speak succinctly, and with economy. Conversational pleasantries will not serve any purpose._

A wall disintegrated, and then V'romek found himself being led into the Borg equivalent of a throne room. At the focal point of the chamber, a woman levitated in the air, affecting a reclining posture as though she was sitting in an invisible chair. From above, a shaft of white light fell upon the woman, lending her an almost heavenly aura.

V'romek stood before the woman, and gazed at her with his beady, chiropteran eyes.

When V'romek spoke, he sounded as though he was rolling pebbles about inside his mouth. When he was younger, he had a deep, deep voice, but the bass had long faded.

“Overseer,” he said. “The civil war has been spreading throughout the Romulan Empire like a disease, and now...it appears the disease has arrived in our orbit...”

Seven of Nine gave no reply to this. She simply stared at him with her black eyes.

V'romek's bared his fangs. “What do you want from the Remans, Overseer?” he said.

When Seven spoke, her voice filled the room from floor to ceiling.

“ **We are constructing a perfect society, Primus V'romek,”** she said. **“We wish for the Remans to be part of that society...”**

V'romek gave a snort – a snort, like rotting air escaping from a tomb. _“A perfect society,”_ he intoned. “Sela, and all the other troublemakers...they are your _puppets,_ are they not? You have them waging battle against the Romulans, spilling their own blood for you while you lurk in the shadows. And now, you want us to spill our blood for you, in turn...”

 _Hmmm._ Sela had agreed to serve Seven because she was desperate, and she knew that the walls were closing in on her. All the other Romulan warlords had agreed to work under Seven because of greed, and ambition. But the Remans? Seven knew that the Remans would require something different to persuade them to ally with her.

“ **Primus, we offer your people the opportunity for revenge,”** she said.

A dark impulse shot through V'romek's Reman brain. _“Revenge?”_ he said.

Seven nodded. **“The Federation convinced the Romulans to free your species...but that is not what you truly desire, is it? The Remans do not wish to live in peace alongside the Romulans...you wish to destroy them. The Romulans enslaved your kind for hundreds of years. Millions of Remans, asphyxiating in mine shafts, or buried beneath collapsed tunnels. Millions of Remans, sacrificed in wars. What you desire, Primus V'romek, is to enact justice upon your former masters. The Remans wish for vengeance...and we can help you achieve it...”**

As V'romek watched, Seven began to drift around in the air, as though she was being carried about by some baleful, angry wind.

“ **In time, we will begin an invasion of New Romulus,”** she said. **“If you wish, the Remans may fight at the forefront of this invasion. You may banish the Romulans from their own homeworld, Primus. You can send the Romulans into exile in the ruins of their own empire. This is the vengeance that we offer your species. The Romulans kept your people in chains for centuries, and now you can send them fleeing, in terror and disgrace, from their own territory...”**

Seven of Nine became still again. She levitated in the air, and waited for V'romek to respond.

Seven was right about one thing: V'romek dearly, _dearly_ wanted revenge against the race that once called him servant. When he was sixteen years old, V'romek killed a Romulan in secret – the fool was wandering about a dilithium quarry at night, searching for some piece of equipment that he had lost, and while he was standing on a gantry, young V'romek grabbed hold of him, and sent him plummeting into a chasm, three hundred feet to his death. Terrifying, exhilarating, uplifting – it was one of V'romek's most cherished memories.

V'romek desperately wanted to exact revenge against the Romulan people. Since the day he became Primus of Crateris, he had been secretly stockpiling weapons in preparation for some hypothetical scenario in which the Remans would be able to bring violence upon the Romulans – even though the logical part of his brain kept telling him that such a scenario would never come to pass.

But, now... _this._ A Borg Queen was planning to usurp the Romulans, and she was offering her technology and assistance to the Remans...

However, V'romek was not an idiot. He knew that there were many, many uncertain elements about this situation...

“When the Romulans are no more,” he said. “You intend to rule this empire yourself...”

 _Well, obviously,_ Seven's demeanour seemed to say, though she said nothing.

V'romek sneered at the Queen. “The Romulans kept us in shackles for centuries,” he said. “And now, you expect us to call you 'Master', instead?”

Seven of Nine straightened herself in the air, and then she drifted down until her feet touched the floor. She took a step closer to V'romek.

“ **We are Borg,”** she said. **“We were a slave, once, ourselves. For sixteen years, the Collective bent us to its will. We understand what it means to be a prisoner, to have no free will. In that respect, Reman and Borg are alike.”**

V'romek gave the slightest of _hissing_ noises. He didn't much appreciate it when other species compared themselves to his people.

Seven carried on. **“When we create our new Consensus, all individuals will be equal,”** she said. **“Inequality will not be tolerated. The Remans will have more freedom than they have ever experienced before.”**

V'romek let out a snarl at this. “And when you create your... _Consensus,_ ” he growled. “What place will the _Romulans_ have? In your _perfect society?”_

 _Ah. A potential problem emerges._ It was always Seven's intention, after defeating the Romulans, to treat them in a civilized, compassionate manner. However, it seemed that V'romek – once he gained a position of power over them – wished to dispense brutality and cruelty upon his former slavers.

Seven fixed her obsidian eyes upon V'romek. **“All individuals will be equal,”** she stated. **“Romulans included. We offer the Remans vengeance, Primus V'romek, but the vengeance we offer is the downfall of Romulan rule. When the Romulans are defeated, and the Consensus is completed, the Romulans will be our children...just as the Remans.”**

Seven allowed a few moments to linger in threatening silence.

“ **And we will allow no one to threaten our children, Primus...”**

V'romek held Seven's gaze. He refused to avert his eyes. He had seen too many horrors in his life to be intimidated, even by a Borg Queen.

Seven inclined her head. **“Do you accept our proposal, Primus V'romek?”** she asked.

V'romek considered his options.

Well, there wasn't much of a choice, was there? Ever since he became Primus, years ago, V'romek had been quietly seething on his world, wishing for an opportunity to harm the Romulans...and now, that opportunity was here.

A day of reckoning was on its way. The Romulans had a terrible debt of blood to pay.

Soon, New Romulus would be besieged by the most terrifying attack force the Romulans had ever witnessed...and the Remans would be in the vanguard.

Remans in the streets, gunning down their former masters. Remans, tearing down statues and monuments, and burning down buildings. Romulan families cowering in corners and under tables as their former slaves broke into their houses.

The Romulans had brought much misery to the Remans...and soon, the balance was to be paid in full.

V'romek came to a decision.

“Very well,” he said. “We will serve in your Consensus. When the Romulans see their old empire toppling down around them, let them recognize the faces of those that once served them...”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

“ **When the Consensus is founded, we will incorporate pre-warp societies into our new civilization...”**

Hugh's head slumped, and his shoulders sagged, and he let out a tired, exasperated sigh.

Seven of Nine and Hugh were in a command chamber at the heart of a Borg Cube. In the centre of the chamber, there was a massive holographic display that dominated the room. This glowing green hologram depicted the blueprint for the Consensus itself – a schematic for the empire that Seven eventually planned to build. In one star system, Seven intended to build habitats in which her drones could live. In one particular nebula, Seven planned to build research stations. In a certain asteroid field, Seven planned to build construction yards in which even more Borg Cubes could be assembled.

In recent times, Seven of Nine had been daydreaming a lot about her future empire – creating maps and diagrams of a domain that did not yet exist, writing policies and laws for a society that had not yet been created. More than once, Hugh had suggested that, _y'know, instead of fantasizing about your own personal queendom, perhaps you should concentrate more on this enormously destructive civil war that you're currently fighting?_

But back to the present moment. Hugh tried to process this latest bit of bad news that he had received. “What...what do you mean by that?” he asked. “What do you mean, _pre-warp societies will be incorporated into our civilization?”_

Seven gave him a dull look.

“ **Whenever we encounter an immature society, we will descend to their world, and introduce ourselves,”** she said. **“We will absorb them into our Consensus. Where normally it would take tens of thousands of years for a civilization to develop technologies such as warp speed, matter replication, advanced medicine...we will give them this technology at once. They will join us on our level of existence.”**

Hugh frowned deeply. Every now and then, Seven confronted him with some new, horrifying aspect about this dreadful _project_.

Hugh tried to gather the words he needed. “You...you are aware that the Federation has _some_ good ideas, right?” he said. “You _do_ know that, don't you? There's a _reason_ that the Prime Directive exists...”

Seven's eyes were fixed on the hologram, and Hugh wondered how much focus she really was giving him.

“ **The Prime Directive exists because there is nothing that the humans value more than their precious status quo...”** she said.

Hugh felt vaguely exhausted. He had never won any of his recent debates with Seven, and he had a feeling that he wasn't going to win this one, either. “No, the Prime Directive exists because pre-warp cultures need _protection_ , because more advanced societies love to exploit them...”

Seven's face and hair was coloured green by the light from the holo-schematic. The Consensus existed so vividly in her imagination that she could not help but bring it to life.

“ **We are Borg,”** she said. **“We are not greedy, and we are not selfish, and we do not exploit vulnerable civilizations. We help them. If we discover a pre-warp society, and we do not intervene in their development, what then will happen? Over centuries and millennia, countless billions of individuals will needlessly suffer and perish.** **Children will succumb to easily-treatable diseases. Refugees will flee pointless, unnecessary wars. Entire nations will starve in famines, because they do not have the technology to provide sufficient food. We have the ability to prevent all this pain and suffering...and we will. We will not ignore the plight of vulnerable species.”**

Hugh broke out in a quiet, bitter laugh. “They're going to worship you as a god, you know?” he said. “These...these innocent people, who pull metal out of the ground to make tools and weapons...when they see the cubes descending from the skies, and this terrifying Borg Queen addresses them...they're going to think that you're _a god,_ Seven. They're going to build temples, and worship you. Is that...is that what you want, Seven?”

Seven reached out her finger to the holographic display, and with a single gesture, relocated a science installation from a nebula to a black hole.

“ **We will offer them a comprehensive educational system,”** she said. **“It may perhaps be the case that the first few generations will worship us as a divinity...but their descendants will be far more informed and capable of critical thought.”**

Seven made a tapping motion with her finger, and a settlement that was yet to be built grew in size from a small town to a large city.

Hugh hunched his back. He placed both hands on a panel, as though to help himself deal with some terrible burden.

Hugh was horrified by so many things that Seven of Nine had done, in recent times. Her transformation from an xB Fenris Ranger to a pitiless Borg Queen. The Romulan civil war, in which millions of innocent lives had already been lost, millions more fleeing in the direction of the Federation to avoid conflict. And, of course, her insane plan to create an empire on the ruins of the Romulan state.

But, truth be told...Hugh didn't really have any right to _complain,_ did he?

Hugh could remember how, just before he died, he was forced to confront the failure of everything that he had worked for in his life. The Borg Reclamation Project, crumbled to nothing. The xBs that had loved and trusted Hugh, that had relied upon him to protect them and keep them safe...slaughtered by ruthless Zhat Vash assassins.

Hugh had failed to protect the xBs. He was too weak.

Seven of Nine was different. With a force of will that Hugh never possessed, she went into Borg space, and returned with a massive army at her command.

With Seven of Nine as their Queen, the xBs would never be harmed again. Seven had proven herself worthy as their ruler. Unlike Hugh, she could protect them.

So...yeah. Hugh had many, many misgivings about Seven's plans...but who cared about his opinions, really? Hugh had already failed.

With a leaden voice, Hugh gestured towards the hologram. “I think we need to assign more security along certain trade routes,” he said.

Seven studied the schematic. **“Hmmm,”** she said. **“It would seem you are correct...”**

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

When Seven cured Raffi of her addictions, there was an unexpected little _side effect._

Well...perhaps it was not _entirely_ unexpected. Perhaps Seven knew what would occur when Raffi was freed from her alcoholism and drug use. Perhaps she didn't care.

For a few weeks after she received the Borg nanoprobes, Raffi was almost _euphorically_ happy. Thirteen years. Thirteen years, Raffi's life had been ravaged and deformed by her own addictions, her family abandoning her and Starfleet casting her out in disgrace. Thirteen years, Raffi had been a slave to narcotics and alcohol...but now she was free. _Free._

No more, would Raffi wake up to cravings and destructive hungers. No more, would Raffi count the hours until she could climb into bed and fall asleep, and get a little respite from her urges. No more, would Raffi live in fear of quiet moments when she was alone and had nothing to distract her.

That was all in the past. Now, Raffi was free. She had begun a new life.

“Quick announcement: if anyone wants to borrow latinum from me, now is the time!” she happily declared one evening, standing on board the _Sirena_. “Just saying!”

Cris, Agnes and Jean-Luc were there. They simply stared at her. None of them took Raffi up on her offer.

For a few weeks after she first received the nanoprobes, Raffi got into the habit of constantly setting herself little _tests_. Little demonstrations of her newfound restraint and self-control.

One day, Raffi stood in a park in Stardust City, and held a bottle of blue wine in her hand. _Dorton's Original,_ vinted on the shores of the Perfume Strait.

Raffi gazed at the bottle. She peered through the glass, and saw the wine sloshing about within.

Raffi stared at the bottle for a full minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Five. Not once, was she tempted to take a drink. Not once.

With a loud _pop_ , Raffi pulled the cork out, and upended the bottle. The wine gushed out onto the ground, showering over the blades of grass. Raffi watched as the wine drained away. She felt no sense of loss, of grief, of mourning. Over the years, when she was an addict, there were times when Raffi would openly sob if she didn't have any alcohol, if she couldn't get her hands on painkillers, stimulants, something, _anything_ that could get a buzz going in her head. But now? Now, as the wine poured down onto the soil, she felt nothing at all. No sense of bereavement, no sense of tragedy.

Standing there in the park, in the open air, Raffi began to laugh out loud. She felt as though invisible chains, bonds that she had worn for decades, had at last been broken. She was free. _Free._

Raffi left Stardust City, and began to live her new life as a non-addict.

Unfortunately, it was at this point that the aforementioned side effect of the Borg nanoprobe treatment became apparent.

The crux of the matter was this: Raffaela Musiker was a truly _exceptional_ data analyst. The talent that she demonstrated in dealing with masses of information was not something that could be taught – Raffi was born with it. This talent was an intrinsic part of her. Raffi would never have been assigned to one of Starfleet's most legendary, most decorated officers if she had not possessed remarkable skills.

But there was a complication. Raffi's skills and talents were greatly inhibited and stunted by her addictions.

Raffi was not much use as an intelligence officer when she was constantly drunk and/or stoned. Even during the short periods of her life when Raffi managed to stay sober, her addiction was a constant phantom following her everywhere she went. You can't really focus on statistics and information when your body is endlessly screaming at you to inject a certain drug, or to pour a certain drink down your throat.

But now? Now, Raffi's addictions had been purged from her body. The nanoprobes had literally repaired the changes that had been inflicted upon her brain.

Now that Raffi was no longer an addict, she was free to reclaim her place as one of the human race's best jugglers of facts and numbers. Now that Raffi was no longer a junkie...there was nothing for her to do, but focus on the data...

And the data led to a very obvious conclusion...

Seven disappeared for three weeks, and then the moment she returned, an awful civil war flared up inside Romulan space.

Seven underwent a massive change in personality...and as soon as this change took place, conflict began to spread around the region like wildfire.

One afternoon, Raffi was sitting at her station on the bridge of the _Sirena_ , when a thought occurred to her.

_Am I...am I dating one of the local warlords?_


End file.
